


Too Late

by Ranranbolly



Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Bikers, Blood, Blood Drinking, Bloodlust, Gangs, M/M, Vampires, biker vampires, surf nazis - Freeform, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-01-22 03:37:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 48,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12472600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranranbolly/pseuds/Ranranbolly
Summary: Even if Max never met Lucy, the boys can't help but running into the Emersons. Star has to fight her own demons, and finds that alone she can't seem to shake them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kage and I are still writing stories together, but this fic is one I just sort of wrote on the side.

A week ago, this whole moving thing was just a headache. Pack a few things, say a few awkward good-byes to some friends and a girl he maybe had a fling with but hadn't really agreed whether or not they were really dating, but the good part was supposed to be flipping his dad the bird once he got his bike loaded up and ready to move to California to stay with gramps for a few months.

Today though, pulling into the front yard, what was going to be a headache ended up being a bad dream instead. The last five days leading up to their road trip had been a bad dream, actually. Mom got the call about the old man having a bit of a scare on a trip to visit some ailing widow, got a bit sick, and that was it.

So this was it. Parents divorced. Grandpa's service tomorrow. A weird garage packed with enough bones and grinning little beasties to give Freddy Krueger nightmares. At this rate, Michael was pretty sure this would be the shittiest summer of his life.

"As soon as we settle in," Lucy called out from the kitchen, "maybe I'll find a nice job. You never know!" Even though she was in another room, Michael and Sam knew their mom well enough to picture the broken expression she was probably wearing. Her cracking voice was evidence enough.

Yeah, maybe grandpa never came to visit, except maybe Christmas. Every other year. It didn't mean she wasn't on the phone with him without fail each and every Saturday for as long as they could remember.

"This sucks," Sam mumbled, scratching at his wrist just above the dirty work gloves he'd found in an old toolbox. They didn't need to work on anything today. To put anything away. Tidy up. Still, what else could they do? It didn't seem right to go to the boardwalk they'd passed through, check out the stores, buy a few cheap necklaces or bits of googly-eyed shells they couldn't afford, when mom seemed intent on keeping herself locked up in the house until well after grandpa's funeral.

"Yeah, it sucks," Michael agreed, eyeing a nasty pile of antlers and twisted bones against the wall. It was just waiting for some innocent klutz like Sam to trip and turn himself into another weird dead animal project.

"Hey, you think maybe when mom gets a job, we can buy a tv?" Sam poked his brother's shoulder, wrinkling his nose as he glared at a cross-eyed stuffed skunk he held in his free hand.

"Sam, we're flat broke," Michael told him, edging towards the pile of horns and examining them to see if maybe there was some way he could dismantle the mess without a pair of pliers or something more heavy-duty. Didn't look like it was held together by wire or anything, but then again, he didn't know much about taxidermy. "Why don't you get a paper route, huh?"

Sam rolled his eyes, "right, yeah, maybe I'll be able to afford a tv when I'm fifty."

Michael gave his brother an exasperated look, "why don't you go help mom in the kitchen, huh? I bet Nanook could use a walk or something."

"Why?" Sam poked him again, this time using the skunk's head to do it, wielding the stuffed carcass like a rapier. "You got a nudey mag tucked away somewhere, Mike?"

" _Sam,"_  Michael stressed his name, slapping the skunk out of his little brother's grasp and sending it flying to the ground with a weird, hollow-sounding ' **thunk** '.

"You killed it!" Sam stared down at the skunk, feigning horror.

This, of course, left Michael with no other option but to grab his brother by the scruff of the neck and pull him in for a vicious, scalp-scorching noogie.

"Miiiiike!" Sam shouted, or really, whined. "Stop it!" He tried to punch at Michael's arm to break free from his hold, but there was nothing doing until he was good and ready to let his little brother go.

"Asshole," Sam rubbed at his head, fairly certain he was going to have a bald spot when he looked in the mirror.

Michael grinned at him, unapologetic as he began his first attempt to dismantle the pile of ghastly bones and antlers. "Dork."

* * *

Pickings had been pretty slim lately. Maybe a security guard here or a tourist there, but how long had it been since anyone threw a real  _party_? Something they could sink their teeth into?

David flicked his cigarette, scannings passersby. A familiar flurry of blonde hair being led by a muscle-bound idiot caught his eye. Maybe later on he'd finish up that little game he and the boys had been playing on the merry-go-round. They'd all earned it. One kill between the four of them this week did not stretch very far.

"Looks like he's hunting again," Paul remarked out of the blue, nudging his shoulder.

David looked over at the video shop with little interest. No bites tonight. No divorcees or sexually frustrated housewives hunting for twice-used copies of 'The Blue Lagoon'. Just teenagers. Parents with little kids. Two categories of women Max thankfully never pursued for anything more than a snack. The boys would have a hell of a lot more trouble dealing with the aftermath if he did. At least when the master vampire tried to turn the older women, they were easy to get rid of. So far, none of them had turned out sane once Max's blood was done turning them, and their first kill over with.

David and his boys had been lucky. They took to their changes easily. So, they all had a few  _quirks_ , it could be a lot worse. Max's last attempt to make a mother for them had very nearly gotten them all ashed.

"Any bites?" David looked over at Dwayne, who generally did most of the Max-watching. Better eye.

"Not tonight," Dwayne shrugged. "Seems like he's trying harder than usual, though."

Marko broke into one of his secretive smiles, nudging Paul beside him, "we could go bug him. Throw him off his game."

Flicking his cigarette again, David scowled at the dwindling remains and took one more pull, "can't throw him off his game if there's nothing to throw off. Where's Star?" It suddenly struck him that their shining gem wasn't with them. She'd taken the kid off somewhere, either moping or something 'unthinkable.' Hunting.

Nah, she'd never do it. David debated some nights whether he really wanted her to go through with a kill or not. She didn't have any edge, any flicker of viciousness in her. That was usually a pretty good indicator of whether someone could take to the change without snapping. Not that it really mattered. Star had sought  _them_ out first, and Max had given them the go ahead.

As for the kid, well, that was all Max. Sort of. His last attempt to find a wife had landed them with Laddie. The woman didn't make it.

"There's a concert tonight," Marko interrupted David's thoughts, "maybe she's finally gonna do something." They all seriously doubted it. Even after multiple veiled threats disguised behind half-smirks and pretty words. David was an expert at saying one thing with two very clear meanings. It was dangerous to have Laddie and Star sleeping out in the middle of the hotel lobby, day after day. If anyone found them, got them good and scared, they'd find the boys easy. Not a lot you could do to defend yourself when you were dead to the world.

None of them liked feeling vulnerable. They were predator, not prey. Star still didn't seem to quite grasp that yet.

Still, she was good for one thing. When they had nothing else going on, no misguided Surf Nazis around to pick a fight, or security guards to make a point with. No tourists. No vagrants with enough stubble and B.O. to make even Paul want to put off eating for a couple more nights. When there was nothing else, Star was very good at reeling in starry-eyed Romeos. Kids, really, the same age David and his pack members may have been long before the sun faded behind them for the last time. Then, when she brought them in, because she never seemed hungry enough for the pay-off...they ate. They ate well. Maybe tonight, she'd bring in an extra dish, a dessert to follow their entree a la Surf Nazi and Nazette. Maybe.

"You know what, boys?" David grinned, looking around at the rest of his pack, sensing a growing impatience with their casual lounging and crowd-gazing, "let's go bug the old bastard anyway. Keep him on his toes." Pass the time until their meal tonight was nice and far from the boardwalk. Far enough, at least, to catch them in the act. Nothing better than that look of arousal fading into terror like flipping a light. Yeah.

Tonight was going to be a good one. With or without Star.

* * *

She might as well have been floating, the way her skirt never seemed to catch at her bare ankles tonight, or the music just barely kept her grounded. If she didn't think anyone was watching, Star would let the ocean air lift her above the crowds, above the stage and testosterone-powered sax player, the sweat and the screams, into nothing. The only thing she still liked about the night.

Star danced, while Laddie stood beside her. A baby bird. Laddie never flew. He nestled under Star's wing, or clung to Dwayne's bike. Once in awhile, he was a child, but mostly, just a ghost. Just like Star. Trapped and waiting, fighting the night. Fighting the creature clawing at his stomach in his waking, and sometimes even his sleeping hours.

While she moved, swayed, just barely kept her toes pressed to the wood and sand, Star let her eyes scan the crowd. She would find someone tonight. She had to. Maybe, just a bite would do. Just a sip, or a little more. Just enough to keep herself together, enough to keep David satisfied that she was  _trying._  Star wouldn't kill, though. She refused. She couldn't.

It was easy, to catch an eye. She felt it before she saw him, an older man in the crowd. The kind of guy with a wife at home, a mortgage, and entirely too much money he was probably willing to spend on a piece like her. That was the impression she got, anyway, stretching towards his mind with the little power she seemed to have. David told her it would get better when she killed, but she didn't need it. All she needed was a small taste. She'd lead him from the crowd with Laddie at her side still, until the little boy caught a signal from the boys and skipped towards Dwayne's bike.

She exchanged a flirtatious flip of her hair and a word or two. Didn't hear much about what he said. Money didn't matter. The only thing he seemed to be worth was the life pumping sluggishly in his veins. Not fast. Not healthy. He probably didn't have much time left. That was what a hard life brought, and this man was no stranger to it.

"Star," he shouted out her name, and she felt dry fingers tugging at her hair, desperate breath on her neck. Just a bite, she told herself, catching David's eye and skipping off towards the darkened beach instead.

"Star," the man repeated, following. A dog on a leash. A walking corpse.

Just a bite, she told herself again.  _A bite._

If David had any doubts she would make the kill tonight, he needn't have worried. Rough hands tearing at her shirt, cutting the flirtation short, cruel lips trying to force her tongue into a strange, awful dance…

Then he was dead. He was dead, and there was nothing but hunger left,  _still._

David had been right about one thing. Star did snap. She snapped, and she liked it.

* * *

Sam did not like Santa Carla. Well, alright, Santa Carla was okay, but it wasn't like he'd gotten to see much of it since they arrived a couple of days ago. Mom just wanted to clean and talk about grandpa. Mike just wanted to work out and box up that creepy junk in the old man's nightmare garage.

He liked grandpa. He really did. Sam just wasn't very good at being  _bored._  A kid could only sort through his comic books so many times, or call his dad to tell him what a jerk he was before mom started scolding him about long distance charges. No MTV. No friends, besides Nanook that is.

"Mmmmmgghhhh!" Sam groaned into his pillow, punching it and rolling onto his back. Napping wasn't working either. He hated to think he'd spend the whole stupid summer break waiting for it to end, just go to to some weird school with a bunch of people he'd never met. Mike probably wouldn't even be around, either, the way he was going on last night at dinner about dropping out.

There was a soft knock on his bedroom door, "hey," Lucy called out as she pushed it open, smiling at her youngest with that same, fragile look she'd had since they got the news. At least it wasn't as bad as the funeral. Her eyes weren't puffy anymore. Sam suddenly felt a pang of guilt.

"Yeah, mom?" Sam sat up, while his husky beside him in his bed perked up at the same time, as if she'd come to address them both over some important matter, like the status of an impending steak dinner.

"Listen," she edged into the room, keeping her arms crossed to protect herself from some imagined chill, "I was thinking about going to the boardwalk today. See if we can spend some time together, maybe drop off a few resumes. Michael said he'd meet us there later, but does that sound like something you'd like to do?"

Sam perked up, "yeah. That's-" he paused, "can we maybe see if there's a comic shop there or something?"

Lucy nodded, her smile becoming just a little less fragile, warming up to her youngest son's sudden good mood. "Just remember, we're on a tight budget right now, so you might just have to window shop."

"I don't think most of those places have win-" Sam began, trying to use his persuasive pout to change her mind, but cutting himself off. "Yeah, alright. Window shop." He could always pester Mike for money. Probably still had a couple of bucks from his part time job back in Phoenix. Probably. If he hadn't blown it on something stupid like the gross crap he put in his protein smoothies or Van Halen tapes.

* * *

Edgar Frog wasn't sure exactly when he and Alan began to suspect there was more to Santa Carla than just sand-blasted perms, neon shirts, cheap drugs, and a murder rate that would make the Manson family tremble. Maybe it was back in elementary school, when their dad showed up one night with a bad hickey and mom spent a solid month force-feeding him garlic. Could've been when they both binge-watched every low budget bloodsucker video they could get their hands on after their parents splurged on the VCR. If they had any doubts, seeing a homeless guy burst into flames last summer when they were opening up shop just after sunrise pretty much had the Frogs completely convinced.

It only made sense, then, that Edgar and Alan Frog use their vast knowledge of the undead gained from several hours worth of horror comics and mindless shelf-stocking to rid the city of evil as best they could. So far, literally, no bites, but they were pretty sure any day (or night) that their side business would pick up. Yes, business. After all, stakes and crosses didn't always come cheap, and they weren't exactly making a lot of money helping their parents run the store. A hunter's gotta eat.

"Hey, Ed," Alan called out to his brother, scooping up his beat-up price gun and pointing it at a customer at the front of the shop. Just before sundown, cotton candy sticky on his fingers, a little boy began to pick through the discount rack.

Edgar nodded, stiffening his shoulders and striding slowly through the shelves, eyes trained on the kid. Where were his folks? Didn't they know how dangerous it was to let your brat walk around in Santa Carla without a leash?

"You gonna buy something?" Edgar growled out, using his deepest, most intimidating man-voice he'd perfected over the last year.

The little boy jumped, dropping an issue of Groo the Wanderer and sticking his fingers into his mouth guiltily, "I wafn't doing nuffin," he defended himself with criminally large doe eyes to back him up.

Alan edged in on the other side of the rack, both hands wrapped around the handle of his price gun as if at any moment he'd have to use it to protect himself. It was always good to have back-up.

"Santa Carla's a dangerous place," Edgar went on, glaring at the kid and crossing his arms, "where's your mom?"

Helpless, the little boy gave him a lazy shrug, pulling his spit-covered fingers from his mouth and wiping them on the front of his shirt, "I dunno. Somewhere."

Exchanging a look, the Frog brothers knew what had to be done.

"Here," Edgar reached into his back pocket to pull out one of his trusty business cards. Of course, not really a card, just a copy of vampires everywhere with their names and phone number written on the back with bright red permanent marker, "your folks may need this. If you have any problems, just call," he shoved the comic at the kid, who happily took it from him and dodged out of the store with his prize.

Another day, another customer served. It'd be better if he actually bought something, but Edgar was convinced eventually this approach was going to pay off. "Hey, Alan, we got any more business cards?"

"Check under the counter," Alan told him, returning to his way less important job of pricing trade-ins. Eventually the hunting gig was going to pay off. Pretty soon, they just knew their phone would be ringing off the hook.

It had been a pretty slow day for the beginning of summer. Tourists hadn't really begun to properly roll into Santa Carla yet, so for the most part Edgar and Alan were just stuck dealing with regulars and grazers. The people you didn't really have to pay too much attention to, but also rarely bought anything more expensive than five bucks at a time. All the more reason for Edgar and Alan to do to their best to spread the word about vampires as much as possible while school was out.

Then, they saw him. Typical yuppie offspring. Popped collar, pastel striped shirt, high-top sneakers, and enough hairspray to suffocate any innocent birds flying overhead for miles. He immediately zeroed in on the Superman comics, bobbing his head mindlessly to the generic rock music blasting outside.

They could try to see if squeezing every cent out of the guy by overcharging for a couple of comics, or they could try to push their side business. Edgar privately debated which option he should pick, while Alan stared at the kid as he swiftly stickered multiple comics on a row lined up in front of him.

There really was only one logical choice here. Ed snatched up another issue of Vampires Everywhere from underneath the register counter, and stalked towards the fashion victim.

* * *

It wasn't hard to find his mom's car in the parking lot, safely illuminated beneath a streetlight. Lucy Emerson always liked to park in well-lit places. Michael parked his bike a lot closer to the boardwalk, just about where sand met wood. He didn't plan to spend too much time here tonight, he was just going to find his family and maybe grab dinner or something. Cleaning out the garage all week had him kinda beat. Not that he really wanted to do it. Michael would've been way happier just catching a concert or maybe checking out any local gyms. He couldn't leave mom to do it all, though, and the longer they left grandpa's things lying around, the longer she'd have to wake up every morning and be reminded about him.

He needed to find a job, too, but it was way too late to swing by anywhere to check out who was hiring. He didn't doubt he looked too tired anyway to make much of an impression. Michael was pretty healthy, fit, took care of himself, but he'd pretty much been cleaning and packing  _all day._  That could take a lot out of anyone.

A girlfriend. That would be a nice distraction. Michael caught the eyes of a smiling girl picking out shark tooth necklaces from a jewelry stall. Then Sam had to go and ruin it by popping up in the crowd, bobbing and weaving like he was lost. No sign of mom in sight. Michael let out an agitated sigh. So much for flirting.

He left his bike and tried to catch Sam's attention with a whistle and a wave, but there was nothing doing. The dork was lost in his own world. Some douche seemed to pick up on it too, because he looked like he was trailing Sam a little too closely. Skinhead with a muscle shirt, three rings through his nose, probably not looking to invite Michael's little brother to the local church.

"Damn it, Sam," Michael cursed under his breath, leaving his bike and quickly jogging to catch up to the pair.

Then, of  _course,_ Sam decided to try to find a shortcut between two stores, and wouldn't you know it, the skinhead dodged after him.

A fist magnet. Seriously. Back in Phoenix, Michael's little brother always seemed to attract the bullies at school. The creeper down the street in their old neighborhood. Even a grifter at one of the gas stations mom had stopped at on their way to Santa Carla.

Mom would kill him if he left his little brother to get mugged for his empty wallet, or worse. Michael would probably beat himself up later if something worse happened under some misguided attempt to let Sam learn a lesson about dodging into alleys at night in unfamiliar places. So Michael picked up the pace, very nearly knocking a few people over in his desperation to get to Sam and the skinhead in time.

True to form, by the time he finally managed to get there, Sam was actually trying to  _talk_ his way out of a mugging.

"Listen, I'm broke, you're probably broke too, and I mean-" Sam's breath hitched when a bit of light shining from one of the boardwalk lamps caught and glimmered on a small knife in the skinhead's hand. "-I-I-I m-mean, c'mon, there's lots of better things you could be doing than wasting your time with  _me!_ "

"Gimme your wallet, you little f-"

Michael's fist came crashing into the asshole's jaw before he could finish his threat, catching him off guard. Stupid dick-head should've been watching his back. Not that getting the jump on him made Michael immune to knives, or a somewhat clumsy elbow to the face.

Sam yelped and started shouting for help, which was just as well, because it took a hell of a lot more to disarm his brother's opponent than a few good shin kicks and a violent slam against the wall. He got plenty of shots in at Michael, too, but the knife was already on the ground by then. At that point, the jerk decided to cut his losses and hobbled out of the alley, shoving Sam aside with his head ducked low so nobody could get a good look at his face.

" _Shit!_ " Sam squeaked, running back to his brother to help him when he noticed blood dripping from Michael's right hand. The slice wasn't deep, but it hurt like a bitch, and it wasn't a papercut either.

"Mike, you alright? Mike?" Sam tried to reach for Michael's hand, but the older Emerson shrugged him away, cradling it away from his chest.

"I'm fine, Sam," he hissed out between his teeth, "why the hell were you wandering around like that, huh? Where's mom?" Sam had gotten lucky. They both had. Michael could fight dirty, and he  _had_ a few times trying to keep his brother safe at school, but he'd never gone up against a mugger, and his heart was beating a mile a minute right now. His hand was a little numb now too, but the pain would show up in full force pretty soon once he was calm enough to feel it.

"Here," Sam dug into his front pocket and pulled out a handkerchief he'd folded there for decoration, reaching for Michael's hand again before he could pull it back, and clumsily tying the cloth around his bleeding palm.

"Too tight," Michael complained, trying to tug at the handkerchief, but Sam had already knotted it, and he didn't want to bother yanking the thing off just to get more blood on his shoes and start over.

"I'm sorry, Mike," Sam apologized in a soft voice, "I was being kinda stupid. I was just trying to find mom, and I think she's on the other side of this block here, and-"

"It's fine," Michael clapped his good hand around his brother's shoulder and led him back out into the open, crowded boardwalk. "I'll just tell mom I cut myself on a-" he paused thoughtfully, "bear claw or something. I'll be fine, I'm just glad you're okay."

Sam grinned, "so can you loan me a couple bucks?"

"Don't push it."

* * *

Blood on the boardwalk. Rich. Fresh. David flicked his cigarette to the sand, nodding over at Paul and Dwayne, "go ahead, we'll catch up later." They were tracking Star. She'd only turned a few nights ago, and already she was leaving a trail of bodies behind her so long that they might as well have plastered neon signs around the whole damn boardwalk, flashing 'hunters welcome, all you can stake' in big, bold letters. If Max didn't pick a new 'wife' soon to adopt the ankle-biter back at the hotel, they'd probably have another insane fledgling on their hands too.

Marko hopped behind David, slapping hands on his shoulders and immediately jumping back at a warning growl from the blond leader, "where we going, huh?"

"I dunno," David shrugged, narrowing his eyes, "let's find out." It wasn't very far. The blood. Smelled so fucking good. Even with the cloying, sticky odors of hundreds of sweaty bodies baking in the summer night air, David easily picked up the trail and let the blood lead him.

Even when the scent brought them to a dead halt in front of a dingy seafood shack, and it no longer fought the smell of sweat or bodies, but over-salted prawns and crabcakes. Didn't matter. David had an itch now, and there was no way he'd lose it.

"All we can eat?" Marko asked hopefully, knowing full well they were far too close to the crowds to even think about it.

"We're on a diet," David drawled, yanking the door open and stepping inside. He couldn't hold back the easygoing, but still very dangerous smirk playing on his lips when a few pairs of nervous eyes looked in their direction. Marko skipped behind him, reveling in the attention. The little imp.

"Michael, sweetheart, just let me look at it," a very soft voice urged from a booth at the opposite end of the restaurant. David didn't bother waiting to be seated, which was just as well. None of the waiters looked too happy to help him.

"I'm fine, my scissors just slipped when I was cleaning."

"I'm not sure I understand why you were  _using_ scissors to clean the garage."

"Well, I mean, I was-"

"Relax, mom. He was just cutting something. Right, Mike?"

It was a fairly innocuous conversation. As casual as the trio seemed to be when David and Marko sat at a table right beside the booth they were tucked away into, they clearly weren't from around here.

Marko hopped up to hail down an innocent waitress, while David watched the group at the table as they talked. He'd stopped paying much attention to the words. He kept his chin in a gloved hand, his arm propped up beneath him.  _Michael._  He liked the sound of that name. It was clear whose blood David had been following, judging by the handkerchief tied around the teenager's hand, and the fact that the scent was so close now it made his fangs itch to come out and play. Probably not a great idea at the moment. He'd be a complete hypocrite if he let that happen.

"So, mom, I think I've got a few comics I wanna get rid of. Trade in, y'know? I'd have to come back tomorrow to do it, though." The younger teen blurted out, changing the topic of Michael's injured hand.

David wondered whether it would be worth it to pick through Michael's mind, see how he'd hurt himself. It had to have been recently. The scent was too fresh. Maybe within the last hour. He was clearly a very bad liar. It didn't strike the vampire even for a moment why he'd suddenly become so curious about a human. Maybe he was just bored. Blood rarely smelled quite as good as this one's.

"I don't know, Sam, there's still an awful lot to do at home. Who knows? I might even get a phone call or two tomorrow about the resumes I dropped off. You'd have to get your brother to take you. Michael?"

"Yeah," Michael replied, clearly reluctant, "sure, whatever. In the morning."

David scowled, unable to resist just a little mental nudge. A tiny thought, nothing too strong. He didn't often like to force humans into anything. It was so much less fun when they were compliant.

"Ah, well, maybe not the morning. I think I want to sleep in," Michael shook his head, using his free hand to rub at his temples, "tomorrow night. I'll bring you back tomorrow night."

Marko shoved a bottle of beer under David's nose, grabbing his attention, "how bout a drink, Davey?"

David lowered his hand from his face, snatching the beer away, "sure. Hey, why don't we let Max babysit tomorrow? I wanna have some fun."

Marko's face brightened, "fuck yeah!" He hissed, clinking his own beer bottle against David's, and turning to make a suggestive smooch at the waitress beside them, who stood petrified with her tray in a death-like grip.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to thank you guys for the comments, and to the guests I can't respond to personally, your words really helped a lot. :)

Star had never been strong _._ A free spirit, perhaps, or even more. Before she'd met, or even heard of the Lost Boys, she was the kind of girl who'd always catch a ride and let the world carry her. Family was a broken memory. Friends were a one night promise. She'd never known  _how_ to belong to something bigger than herself. Something more dangerous. The only control she'd ever seemed to have was her soul, and now that it was gone, she simply didn't care. Laddie was an annoyance now, buzzing in her hair when she'd much rather be dancing, or flying, or  _killing._

She still didn't know how to belong to anything, or anyone. Only a strong sense of self-preservation kept her from trying to dig already bloodied claws into Dwayne's arm when he'd finally managed to catch her at the shore, gripping her tightly about the neck to restrain the hissing Star.

The tide had begun to come in, licking at her bare feet, scalding it red hot with that strange magic running water seemed to have over undead flesh. Salty foam rinsing the bloodied hem of her spangled skirt clean. There was no way she could possibly have drained the many victims she'd already laid waste to over the past few days, but it was so satisfying to watch the sand turn pink beneath them.

"Are you done?" Dwayne demanded, once Star had finally gone lax beneath his grip, the burn of the water on her feet getting to be too much to bear. She could almost swear it was melting through to her bones now.

Paul popped his gum, kneeling down beside the shredded couple on the beach, one of them still wrapped in a beach towel. "Must've been a fucking killer picnic," he remarked, dipping his fingers into some of the blood that had pooled on the girl's stomach and spitting out his gum so he could taste it. "Coulda shared," he complained, his smile turning bitte once he'd finished savoring the taste. There wasn't enough left in their bodies to really get a good meal, and neither of them much liked the idea of trying to suck it out of the sand.

"Let me go," Star demanded, halfway between a plea and a demand. If it was Marko holding her, maybe she could take him. Maybe. Dwayne was another story altogether, and fighting was almost suicidal.

"No. Calm down." he didn't even sound irritated. His tone was flat, almost bored. "You left Laddie alone in the lobby. You're drawing too much attention to yourself and to  _us._ " The last word held more of a threat, now. "David's pissed."

If her heart was beating, it would have shuddered to a stop then and there. "What's he going to do?"

Paul gave her a suggestive wink, climbing to his feet to dust the grit from his bloodied fingers, "stuff and mount you. Guess I could do it, if you-" His mouth snapped shut at a look from Dwayne. Throwing up his hands, Paul stepped back, "alright man, alright, I get it. Message received. No more talking."

Using his free hand to comb through Star's hair gently, a parody of tenderness, Dwayne pulled her a little tighter and pressed his lips against the wild fledgling's ear, "there's rooms in the hotel you've never seen. If you don't get on his good side  _soon,_ you'll find out what's in them. Understood?"

She didn't need to say anything. Star got the message. She behaved. All the way back to the cave. Through David's patient, almost pleasant laughter. He seemed to be in a pretty good mood, despite what Dwayne had said.

She behaved despite Paul's sneaky gropes while Marko and Dwayne shared a joint. Behaved and played nice when Laddie sadly asked her to read him a bedtime story. Star was very good. Right up until the boys decided to call it a night, and she fled before they could catch her.

None of them was stupid enough to bother chasing. Not this close to sunrise. None of them cared enough to try.

Somehow, though, instinct took her to a new place. A house. A man she knew without actually remembering how. He welcomed her with open arms, called her his daughter, and promised to punish the boys for bullying her. Star didn't care, she was just glad to escape. Glad to be lost again.

* * *

"You're up early," Lucy observed, walking into the kitchen as she tied up her robe, "trying to catch the worm?" She squinted through the kitchen window curtains, "I thought you were going to sleep in."

Michael gave his mother a noncommittal shrug in response, peering down at the milk carton in his hand and only briefly looking at the little boy's picture on the back. "Thought I'd make breakfast. You're up pretty early too."

"You know," Lucy put her hand on her hip, turning back to face her oldest son, "it's the strangest thing. I only dropped off about three or four resumes yesterday, and right at eight I got a phone call for an interview this afternoon. Apparently this jewelry shop had so many young men quit this summer, they've hardly got any staff left." She shook her head, "so I guess I caught them at just the right time. That's good news, though, it means Sam won't have to wait to go to that comic shop he found, and you won't have to make the trip."

Giving a box of Bisquick a good shake to gauge the amount of pancakes he could get out of it, Michael yanked a measuring cup out of one of their boxes on the kitchen counter Lucy hadn't gotten around to unpacking. "I don't mind."

"It's your summer too, honey. Here, let me help you," Lucy rushed forward, slim fingers digging into one of the kitchen boxes to find a large mixing bowl. "You do whatever you want."

"I think I'm going to go there tonight anyway. Check out some record stores, maybe find a consignment store to sell grandpa's-" he caught himself, looking back at his mother with a nervous frown.

"It's okay," she told him, reaching for the Bisquick and taking the measuring cup from him, "I won't break, honey. I know he's gone." Lucy hated how fragile she probably looked to both of her sons now, how little control she seemed to have over anything these days. She just didn't know how to fix the spiral they all seemed to be falling into together.

Several loud knocks rang on the front door, thankfully cutting Lucy's thoughts short before they got worse, and she hardly had time to wonder at all who would honestly be visiting them at this hour when she heard Sam clambering down the stairs with all of the frantic energy and noise any hormonal teenaged boy would create this early in the morning.

"I'll get it!" Sam shouted, a little too loudly, dashing to the front door.

"Hattie, Hattie Johnson!" A woman crowed, "you must be little Sammy-boy. Harold told me all about you! Listen, I've got a few things here, do you mind if I come inside?" She had the wobbly voice of an elderly chorus singer, each word on the verge of turning to song. Cracked, melodic, and all too familiar from the occasional phone call Lucy had made to her father, the woman busily shouting in the background, when he would inevitably tell Lucy 'later would be a better time. Maybe after Matlock.'

Never mind the fact that the man never owned a television set.

In a flurry of yellow chiffon and sunflower scarves, she arrived in the kitchen with Sam trailing behind her, clearly bewildered. The old woman was certainly a presence. Maybe a bit too much of one, judging by the way Michael quickly dodged behind Lucy to avoid having his feet stepped on by a pair of lemon colored mary janes.

"Lucy! I'm Hattie Johnson!" She announced needlessly. Anyone the next county over probably would have heard her the first time. Hattie thrust out an arm bedecked with plastic bracelets, "I was a close friend of your father's. He stuffed three of my poodles and my precious Poggie. A spaniel. I didn't want to bother you at the service, but I just couldn't stop myself from coming over to meet you at  _long last._ "

Lucy was almost dizzy, the woman had spewed out her odd introduction so quickly, and so loudly, she could almost hear her ears buzzing while she tried to mix the batter she'd just barely managed to pour milk into before Hattie's other sweeping arm came close to knocking over.

"Listen, um-" Lucy began.

"Hattie. Hattie Johnson."

"Yes, Hattie. Listen, I'm very happy to meet you, but this is a little-" Lucy stumbled for the right word, not wanting to offend the boisterous woman, "-unexpected. We were just making breakfast, and-"

"Breakfast!" Hattie surveyed the kitchen, "of course! Breakfast! Let me help, dear," she took the bowl from Lucy before she could even protest, gesturing towards the kitchen table, "go ahead. All of you, sit, sit. We've got so much catching up to do!"

Faced with the challenge of either bodily throwing an elderly woman out of their house, or meekly doing as she practically ordered, all three of the Emersons sat down together, meekish, dumbstruck at the fury of color and noise Hattie Johnson had brought into their lives in less than the span of five minutes.

"Why're you here?" Sam asked, finally breaking the 'silence', almost rudely enough for Lucy to scold him, but honestly she'd also like to know the answer to that question. She'd wait until they were alone to tell him that wasn't how you spoke to guests, even the unexpected or uninvited ones.

"Well, like I said, I wanted to meet you three. Harold used to gush  _on_ and  _on_ about his family so much, I felt like I already knew you. I think he was doing some touch-ups on my Poggie right before the accident happened. I tell you, I don't know  _where_ that deer could have come from out in the middle of the road like that. I didn't even know we  _had_  deer here!" Her chatter verged on inane or rude, and Lucy still wasn't sure which one was closer.

"Deer?" Michael spoke up, "he had a heart attack."

Hattie paused, setting the mixing bowl down on the counter, "you know, I think you're right. A heart attack. That's what he said. Anyway, I guess you were wanting pancakes, weren't you? This batter looks a little thin for biscuits, honey. I don't mean to hurt your feelings if that's what you were planning."

Lucy stood up, finally seeming to gather together some sense of control, "we were making pancakes. I'm sorry, Ms. Johnson."

"Hattie, call me Hattie!"

"I'm sorry, Hattie, but maybe now isn't the best time. Maybe you could leave me your number, and I could call you later." Not very likely, to be honest. This woman was far too much for Lucy to handle at the moment. Maybe even before her father had passed.

"Oh, no, I completely understand!" Hattie waved at them all, "I completely understand. It's been such a tough week, I know all about it. Trust me. Anyway, you just remember, the name's Hattie." She smiled, "don't forget to call, Lucy. I'll be here if you need anything.  _Anything at all!_ "

Just like that, she was gone, as abruptly and swiftly as she'd arrived.

Lucy stared at the mixing bowl in silent astonishment.

"Mom," Michael called out, tapping her on the shoulder, "who do you think she was talking about?"

"Wh-what?" She nearly jumped, spinning about to face him.

"A heart attack. She said 'that's what he said'. Who do you think she was talking about?"

Lucy wasn't too sure she wanted to confirm the woman's loose screws by speculating on that answer, "probably just a friend, Michael."

"A freaky old lady like that has  _friends?_ " Sam asked, staring at the kitchen door as if he expected her to come back at any second.

"That's not nice, sweety. Of course she has friends." Hopefully.

* * *

"Family," Max stated, furiously polishing one of the lenses of his glasses, "it's a pleasant idea, isn't it? I've always liked having family. Children. Respect. I may not have seen the sun in a good few centuries, but I don't think it would be unfair to say I've become a pillar of this community, David. I wish I could say the same for all of my boys."

The rest of the pack were waiting outside in the frontyard, biding their time and pissing Thorne off while David had his little fireside chat with the head vampire. Their leader in name only. Max was the only one stupid enough not to realize it.

David focused on a floating speck of dust just behind the old nerd's ear. A lot easier to control the ticking muscle in his jaw that way, and avoid saying anything he regretted. Laddie sat in the corner of the room nursing a juice box, probably heavily dosed with Max's blood to keep him dazed.

"Star came very close to meeting the sun this morning. Did you know that?" Max placed his glasses back on his face, his voice deathly calm. The only indicator of his temper was a single claw scratching lightly at the arm of his leather recliner.

The whole place reeked of Aqua Velva and humans. Not even a hint of blood. Max was eternally finicky about making a good impression, even if it was the exact opposite for David and the boys. Antiseptic. Everything about the head vampire was antiseptic. Empty. Fake.

_Weak._

"David, I asked you a question," Max repeated himself, shaking the blonde out of his bitter thoughts.

"Yes," David ground out, "I heard you."

Max's upper lip curled back into a silent snarl, "why?"

"Because she's an idiot," he replied flatly, "not my problem, either. Your blood's in the bottle, not mine." As much as David resented it, he wasn't the head vampire. The city may belong to him and the boys, but it would be stupid to challenge Max for no reason. Besides, his blood did taste good, and it was taking a little of the edge off of their hunger these days since Star had decided to make the whole fucking boardwalk her own personal buffet.

"When you  _asked_ for me to make her, David-"

"I didn't ask," he snapped back. "She did, and I told you."

Max's lips pursed together in growing agitation, "not eating her the moment  _she_ asked was as good as you doing it. When  _you_ asked for me to make her, I consented, with the expectation that you would be responsible-"

"You just wanted someone to look after the brat."

The sting of Max's backhand to his cheek didn't hurt quite so much as the blow to David's ego when he had to force himself to remain motionless,  _taking_ it and feeling like he'd enjoy nothing more right now than tearing out the head vampire's throat. He wouldn't even drink the blood, he'd just enjoy watching it stain Max's pristine white living room carpet.

"Now, I will offer Star and Laddie shelter for the next week, get to know them both a bit better so I can have a better idea of what sort of woman I'll be looking for to take over as your new mother," Max went on, reseating himself as if nothing had happened. "In the meantime, I expect you to make the hotel a much more pleasant home for them to be. By Sunday, Laddie will have his first kill. See to it that you boys help the hunt run smoothly."

So there it was. The other shoe dropped. This psychopathic fuck-face playing house had decided to drag them into another idiotic plan to complete his little fantasy family unit.

"Yeah, sure," was all David could manage, voice dripping with bitterness. Something had to give, and David would sooner stake himself than continue being Max's good little lackey. He was  _not_ going to take  _any_ fledgling on a hunt in the near future. Maybe he'd just leave a trail of body parts leading to Max's front door one of these nights, but David seriously doubted even then that the police in Santa Carla would do anything. They'd have much better luck if Star's behavior just brought in hunters to off him instead. Maybe David would take out an ad or something.

* * *

"I'll pray I never need to call you," Sam repeated sarcastically, after Edgar Frog had managed to force a free comic on him. Horror or not, free was free. These guys were nuts, but pretty funny. Rambo Van Helsing wannabes.

"Hey, Mike!" Sam shouted, heading towards the shop exit where his brother was supposed to be waiting for him.  _Supposed_  to be. Sam gave a nervous look around to make sure that wacko from yesterday wasn't hanging around ready to jump him, but it looked like the coast was clear. Mike wasn't gone, either, he was just standing at the opposite side of the boardwalk holding out his uninjured hand for some blonde chick popping bubblegum to scrawl something on it with a sharpie.

It was tempting to go bug Romeo right then and there just for scaring him, maybe make a remark about sticky socks, but his sense of self-preservation and need to actually  _buy_ something while he was still near the comic shop won out. He'd managed to find a couple of bucks that morning in the bottom of one of his old coat pockets, and Sam planned to burn through it before they went back to that creepy house they now called home.

He didn't notice the chick with the dark perm and spangled skirt standing at the back of the store, watching him. Sam only had eyes for the poorly-sorted DC comics, of which there were a lot. Let Mike take all the time he needed flirting with bimbos, Sam had something way more important to do. Like see just how many comics he could read before the weirdos at the counter gave him the 'buy something' spiel.

At least  _one_ of those Frog brothers looked like he'd found something more interesting to do, but the other one, Edgar, his eyes were still firmly trained on Sam as if an alien was going to burst out of his chest at any moment.

It was just a tiny bit creepy.

"Dude, do you always follow customers around like this? Or are you about to come onto me?" Sam demanded, glaring back up at Edgar.

"You don't believe us."

"About what? Vampires? Look, man, I figured out Santa was just some fat guy on coke cans when I was seven. Your freaky kinks are your own business."

Edgar was standing on the other side of the rack now, dangerously close to giving Sam an eskimo kiss as he leaned forward close enough to intimidate, "listen, buddy, there's a  _lotta_ stuff that goes on in Santa Carla. Bloodsuckers aren't some make believe game me and my brother do while we run the shop for our folks. Every Fall when we go back to school, there's another kid we used to know going missing, or a teacher not showing up to class. Last Summer we got to see a vampire up close and person get a grade A barbeque tan right outside," he flung his hand towards the general direction of the boardwalk, just past the discount comic cart stationed outside.

"I'm sorry," Sam blinked several times, "run that by me again?"

"You gone grocery shopping yet, huh? Notice how garlic costs ten times as much in Santa Carla as it does back in yuppies-ville, Mr. Phoenix?" Edgar sneered, "we're not the murder capital of the world. We're vampire heaven."

"Ooooookay," Sam couldn't help but take a step back. Between the intense stare, the decimation of his personal bubble, and Edgar's bean dip breath, the idea of grazing for comics was suddenly very unappealing. Maybe there was another comic shop in Santa Carla. On the opposite side of the city, far away from here.

"Don't forget our number on the back of that comic!" Alan shouted out as Sam decided to beat a hasty retreat from them both, and out into the safety of the summer crowd outside. He didn't notice the girl at the back of the shop trailing after him. Sam's observational skills left something to be desired.

* * *

Usually, it was pretty easy to get over the 'father son' meetings Max made David go through every once in awhile, he could take out his anger on a large meal and forget about it, have a bit of a party with the boys, enjoy everything that came with the territory. Not so easy tonight, now that Star's antics had made a lot more people less likely to go off on their own or even in small groups away from the safety of the boardwalk lights.

"We could just play a few tricks," Paul blurted out, reaching for Dwayne's joint and yanking it away before Dwayne could even register what was going on. He just rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, looking back at the people walking by for a hopeful bite.

"What, like tire slashing?" Marko suggested, all too happy to cause property damage whenever he could just to get a good laugh.

"No, man," Paul stuck the joint in his mouth and tapped an index finger against his head, "head games."

"I'm too hungry to do that right now," David grumbled. It took too much effort and energy to do that stuff when you hadn't fed in two nights. He needed an effortless distraction tonight. Like that Michael kid. Where was he, anyway? The blood from his injured hand would be too dry now, not fresh enough to pick up easily. David would just have to count on sheer, dumb luck-

"So you surf?"

"Sometimes. I'm not very good."

"That's cool. You could probably still teach me a few tricks. No waves back in Phoenix, y'know?"

Vapid giggles followed, when the couple strolled by David and the boys.

"Oh, that's the gu-" Marko started to talk, stopping immediately at a warning look from David. Not a threat, just a silent command.

It was definitely Michael. David hadn't seen the girl before. Or maybe he had. Hard to tell when the summer crowds of bottle blondes and string bikinis all seemed to blend into the same patterns.

"So," the girl popped her gum, looking around, and distancing herself a little when she caught sight of the boys leaning against their bikes. Michael glanced over at them and then back at her, clearly nonplussed. "So," she repeated, "call me tomorrow, I guess. There's a few new movies out, we could probably catch them or something like that."

"Yeah, sure," Michael nodded, "I've got a few things to do at the house, but I'll give you a call. If you need a ride, I can pick you up," he nodded towards a bike parked further along the gate beside the boardwalk. Maybe not a powerhouse like David's baby, but a decent ride. It was a pleasant surprise to know they had some common grounds.

They parted ways, and on a sudden whim, David nodded at Paul, as if to say 'go ahead'. The rocker was off like a shot after the girl in the crowd. Let him play those head games if he wanted, trick her into walking in the wrong direction, or corner her behind a tourist shop. It didn't really matter.

Marko and Dwayne looked after him, while David remained silent. They'd both already planned to take a quick ride outside the city tonight for a fresh meal anyway. Summer nights brought out plenty of hitchhikers to mess with.

Before Michael could turn to leave, David called out to him, "hey, that your ride over there?" He nodded towards it.

The human looked back at David, his eyes scanning over their bikes, Marko, Dwayne. He may not be intimidated, but he was clearly smart enough to tell they were the 'bad crowd' every poorly-written after school special always kids about.

"Yeah," Michael finally managed to reply guardedly. "Why?"

"No reason," David replied, snatching the cigarette he'd been keeping tucked behind his ear, "never seen it before. You new around here?"

Michael visibly relaxed, "yeah. Just moved. I think I saw your bikes here last night, so I guess you guys have been here for awhile?"

David didn't need to look to know Dwayne's lips had curled into a dark smile, or Marko was covering his mouth to hold back a snicker. "Yeah," David nodded, "we're pretty much permanent fixtures."

"Right," Michael nodded, the joke going over his head.

"The name's David," he nodded over to the others, "that's Marko, Dwayne. I think Paul went to grab a drink or some shit," David shrugged, stuffing his cigarette into his mouth so he could light it with a blood-smeared zippo. His hand was blocking it, so not like anyone else could see anyway.

"My-" Michael began, only to be interrupted by the sound of furious cursing as a fight broke out in the crowd, started by none other than their very own Paul. David could smell the blood that was likely still caked under his nails and sticking to the soles of his shoes. It was a miracle that he'd somehow managed to keep his shirt and jacket clean enough to still be seen in public.

"Is that him?" Michael squinted through the circle forming around Paul and some dipshit Surf Nazi he'd decided to pick a fight with. Their beloved packmate was of course letting himself actually take all the hits, just so he could laugh like a psycho and spit his own blood out onto the ground. Security should come running any minute, once they wore themselves out. Well, once the guy Paul was badgering wore himself out.

The show-off picked a real good time to drum up their bloodlust. David kept his smile firmly in place, despite the fact that he really wanted to jump in on that fight now, as well as Dwayne and Marko. When one of their pack was threatened, the others could actually feel it. Whether Paul was asking for it or not.

"Yeah, he's not great at playing well with others," David managed, thankful that he'd had years of experience dealing with all three of his pack members. Otherwise he'd have lost it then and there.

"Are you going to go help him?" Michael wasn't looking at David at all now, his eyes were glued to the fight, but not Paul. The guy he was fighting.

David's eyebrows shot up, "friend of yours?"

"No," Michael absentmindedly rubbed at his bandaged hand, "not a friend."

None of the boys made it a habit of prying into human minds unless they were playing a nasty game; there was rarely anything of interest otherwise. Michael's thoughts in that moment, however, were so forceful that David couldn't help but catch at least a  _small_ impression of them.

He narrowed his eyes, looking back towards Paul's opponent.

" _Paul,"_ David's voice brushed through the rocker's thoughts, grabbing his attention. Paul nodded over at him, delivering a good sharp punch to the Surf Nazi's stomach to cut the fight short, dodging through the crowd with a quick flip of the bird at the human's friends as they rushed forward to help him to his feet. It was a very slow process.

" _Yeah?"_ There was no mistaking that shit-eating grin, even through his cracked lips and quickly mending cheekbones. There was thankfully enough blood covering Paul's face to disguise the unnatural healing process.

" _We'll come back to that one."_

" _Alriiiight!"_

Michael was still watching the skinhead recovering, one arm draped over another's shoulder, while the victim of Paul's boredom managed to stare blearily in the Lost Boys' direction. He blinked several times, taking in a deep breath, before locking eyes on Michael.

The human was too far away to pick up what the man was murmuring, but David and the boys heard it crystal clear.

"That guy too."

Now that things had begun to settle down, people were losing interest one-by-one, though some watched Paul curiously, and more watched him with a sense of renewed fear. He was far too much of a show-off not to preen a little at the attention, despite his gruesome appearance.

"Nice, Paulie, " Marko snarked, propping his chin on his hand as he leaned against one of his bike handles. None of them expected an apologetic response, neither did they get one.

"Sorry," David spoke up, "you guys haven't even met, and already the crazy fucker's trying to scare you off."

"Uh-" Michael hesitated, clearly having trouble deciding whether he should stay and hang out, or beat it before the crazy rubbed off on him. Apparently he'd decided on the former, because his feet were still glued firmly in place, "you should go to a hospital, man."

"He's fine," Dwayne assured him, "he's already pretty ugly. A few scars will be an improvement."

"Suck it," Paul made a lewd gesture with one hand, while his other hand was busy dabbing at his cheek with a monogrammed handkerchief. Souvenir from a very old meal. The lace edges were tea-stained and curling.

Michael laughed, "you guys are insane."

Taking a deep pull of his cigarette, David considered the remark, "nah," he breathed out his smoke on that one word, "we're just bored."

Ferris wheel lights were flashing, the tide was getting higher on the beach while the wind began to stir itself up, and the Surf Nazis finally beat a retreat while the boys continued to chat it up. David could feel Marko and Dwayne getting a little more restless. They were hungry, and spending their evening hours talking to a human was only making it worse. He'd have to do something to make Michael seem less appealing as a meal, but David wasn't quite sure whether he was ready to do anything drastic. Max was still in charge of the city, and they weren't exactly on the best terms right now, but there had to be  _something_ he could do. While he pondered this, Michael shifted on his feet.

"Listen, it's been fun, but I've gotta give my little brother a lift home tonight," he waved, turning to go.

"We were gonna grab a bite to eat," David called out to him, "c'mon, hang out a bit. My treat."

Michael looked doubtful, "he's probably still dicking around anyway. Yeah. Sure. Why not?"

* * *

No sign of Mike. Actually, no sign of almost anybody. Sam could swear he'd been going in the right direction. His brother's bike wasn't  _that_ far from the comic shop, and since the jerk was planning to take him home, it made sense that's where he'd be waiting since he wasn't standing outside anymore.

Every time Sam thought about turning back, he'd second guess himself and keep going. It was kind of weird, how his feet just kept going even while he thought about changing direction. He'd actually gone so far now that he was walking on beach sand. Could hardly hear the music back on the boardwalk anymore.

"Christ, why would he be out here?" Sam snapped at himself, finally seeming to get through to whatever bizarre impulse he had that was driving him forward. He was getting pretty cold.

The minute he stopped in his tracks, an ear piercing shriek echoed into the night sky, and he felt sharp claws digging into his shoulders, shredding his poor shirt as he was tackled to the ground. Sam cried out in surprise and pain, getting a mouthful of sand for his efforts.

"Let the nerd go, death breath!"

Sam would know that voice anywhere. Well, he would if he could actually hear it. The wild animal on top of of him demanded a little more attention right now. Maybe if he wasn't so terrified he was on the verge of pissing himself, too, he'd notice how feminine the wild animal felt, how human.

He whimpered, trying to spit out some of the sand and grit when he felt the claws drawing out of his skin, pulling at the cuts and tearing his shirt even more. Then, thankfully, whatever- -  _whoever_ was on top of him quickly got off, and Sam was able to pitifully crawl to his knees, adrenaline giving him the much-needed strength to stand up and turn around.

What he saw that night would be one of the few things in the coming months that burned itself into his mind forever.

Edgar and Alan Frog stood in all their glory, or lack thereof, garlic string necklaces wrapped around their necks and water pistols ready to fire. It was sort of hard to pay much attention to them, though, because the she-beast with the crazy hair and dripping fangs was a  _hell_ of a lot scarier.

"Stay back, Phoenix!" Alan instructed, not having learned Sam's actual name, when the monster launched herself at Edgar Frog. With one loud battle cry, he fired his water pistols as quickly as he could manage, which made Sam wonder if this was one of the last things he'd ever see. Two crazy guys fighting a demon with kiddie toys.

There was another shriek that followed, even louder and more horrible than the one before Sam had been attacked, the monster stopping in her tracks as she held up her clawed and bloodied fingers to her face, while smoke filtered from her hands. In an instant, the wind picked up, forcing thin waves from the high tide to come in and soak the soles of Sam's shoes. Then, in an instant, she rose into the sky and fled.

Sam's jaw dropped open, while Edgar slowly lowered his water pistols, giving his brother a quick nod. Alan strode forward, hand lashing out to grab Sam's chin and turn his head left to right.

"He's clean," Alan said.

"Clean?!" Sam demanded, yelped, squeaked. One of the three, he couldn't really tell which. Right now his voice wasn't his own. Neither were his feet anymore. They felt like faulty slinkies.

"Welcome to Santa Carla," Edgar whispered in his typically raspy voice, straightening up and glaring back at Sam. It would have been a very intimidating introduction, if not for-

"Shit!" Alan shouted, "Ed, we left the store open!"

"Shit!" Edgar echoed, taking off back towards the boardwalk, Alan close on his heels.

Sam stared after them, bewildered, and frankly still scared out of his mind. He somehow managed to make his legs work and carry him back the way he'd come, as fast as he could manage before that weird vampire freak came back to finish what she'd started. Mike and mom weren't going to  _believe_ this!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!

 

It was nice to relax. Even if Michael knew the second he got on his bike tonight, picked up Sam, and went home that it would all end. Not quite as glamorous as a chick losing her glass shoe, but he knew damn well he probably wasn't going to come to the boardwalk anytime soon for fun. He had to get a job. He had to look after mom. Sam. If Michael could at least forget it all even for an hour, he wasn't going to complain.

That Paul guy needed some serious help, but if nobody else was worried, Michael didn't see much point in caring either. Funny, at first it looked like he'd taken a much worse beating to the face, but now that they were in better light, chilling out on a sand-blasted bench near the beach, splitting a bag of burgers and some cokes, he didn't really look as bad. Bloody, sure, but that was about it.

"What's wrong?" Paul winked at him, "got something on my face?"

"Yeah, I think you used too much ketchup," Michael replied, rolling his eyes as he slowly unwrapped his burger. This guy. He really didn't know what to think about him.

David nudged Paul, snatching his coke and taking a sip, then spitting it out into the sand beside him, "you got diet," he complained.

"What? No I fucking didn't!" Paul protested, taking it back and sipping it, "nope. Regular."

Marko grabbed it and had a drink himself, "it's diet, dipshit."

Michael closed his eyes, savoring his first bite of the greasy heart attack of a burger, knowing full well that tomorrow morning he'd be chugging down another protein shake and back to his regular health nut routine. A treat like this was nice. Once in awhile.

"Mikey," Marko slammed the drink down in front of him, "taste it and prove this asshole wrong. Diet, right?"

Michael eyed the soda, looking back at his own, "I can't really tell the difference, but alright." He didn't much like the new nickname. Made him sound like they were trying to get him to eat a bowl of cereal to see if it was good or not.

"Diet," Michael paused after taking a sip and passing it back to Paul, "I guess. I dunno. Has a funny taste. Maybe the syrup was out." He had an odd tingling feeling on his tongue and the roof of his mouth. Hadn't even taken a real gulp. "Does coke expire?"

Dwayne shook his head, "no," his serious expression faded into a sly smile, "when the world ends, the only thing left will be cockroaches, twinkies, and coca-cola."

"Who knows?" David shrugged, putting a cigarette to his mouth.  _Where is he getting all those cigarettes?_  "There might be something or someone else."

It felt like there was some other joke he was missing here, when the others began to laugh, so Michael just went with it. He was feeling really relaxed now. Maybe he'd needed a break more than he realized.

"So, how about it?" David asked, grabbing Michael's attention. He'd dazed out without even realizing it.

"Uh, what?" Michael shook his head, "how about what?"

"A ride. Go for a ride with us tomorrow. How about it?"

"I don't-" Michael took another bite of his burger, not really sure what to say. It'd be nice to hang out again. His wasn't really much of a match for David's bike, though. He probably couldn't beat it. "I don't think I could ride as fast as you guys."

David grinned, "just keep up. Shouldn't be too hard."

* * *

"That was fast," Dwayne remarked as they headed out, leaving Michael on the boardwalk to catch up to his little brother.

"Max is gonna be maaaaaad," Marko added with his two cents.

"It was just a couple of drops. Not enough to turn," David explained, almost offended that they'd think he'd do something so stupid. "Just enough to make a link. Keep this crazy asshole over here from trying to chow down on him when my back's turned," he slugged Paul's shoulder.

"I wasn't -" Paul began to defend himself, but stopped abruptly at an identical look of disbelief from all three of the others. "Okay, maybe I was thinking about it," he admitted, "but I would've let you guys get first dibs."

David snorted, turning to look back over at Dwayne, "hey, don't forget to get those fliers ready tomorrow."

Dwayne gave him a two-fingered salute. Tomorrow night's blow-up was going to be epic.

* * *

He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't. Sam's whole sense of reality had been decimated. Vampires. Vampires were  _real?_ So, did that mean Dracula was a biography? Was there really some moldy old Transylvanian prince munching on virgin necks and guzzling blood like it was cranberry juice?

What about other monsters? Ghosts? Demons? Jackalopes? Christ, he hoped not. The last thing Sam needed to worry about when he was riding with Mike and trying not to scream every time his brother took a sharp turn. A herd of grungy rabbits with antlers jumping in the way.

"So where the hell were you," Sam finally managed to blurt out once his brother had stowed the bike in the garage, and they were walking back into the house.

"I was just getting some food. You were in that dump for an hour, I figured you weren't going to leave anytime soon. I'm not your babysitter, Sam," Michael told him. He sounded like he was in a good mood, even if he was apparently the world's worst bodyguard.

"I could have died!" Sam defended himself, yanking the screen door open, "

"No, you wouldn't. Unless you were trying to get yourself cornered in an alley again. Were you?"

"Well, I mean," Sam faltered, "no. Still, though…"

"As long as you're smart, he's not going to come back. Trust me. People like that are cowards. That's why they target little guys. You're just an easy target."

"Wh-I am not!" Sam huffed, following his brother into the kitchen to continue their conversation. Lucy was sitting at the table flipping through a catalog and nursing a cup of coffee.

"Oh, you're back!" She put a hand on her chest, looking up at both of them, "it's almost eleven. Why were you out so late?"

"Lost track of time," Michael explained, "then I kinda lost Sam for a while and grabbed dinner. Sorry."

She gave them the dreaded mom look, "there's payphones, I wish you'd called."

"Mom," Sam slammed himself down into the last chair at the table, almost making one of the legs crack in the process. He'd promised himself he'd do this when he got home. They could pack up and leave, easy as that. It wasn't too late to go back to Phoenix. "You're both really going to want to stay sitting for this. I've gotta tell you something."

The funny look Michael and Lucy exchanged made what he was about to say feel pretty silly, but Sam couldn't just keep his mouth shut. What if his mom worked a night shift? What if his brother decided to neck with the wrong bimbo? That she-bitch on the beach was  _just his type!_

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly, keep his hands firmly planted on the table in front of him, "there's vampires in Santa Carla."

"Vampires," Michael repeated slowly, drawing the word out. "You did say vampires, right?"

"Yes." Sam nodded gravely, "Shit-sucking-sorry, mom, but honest to god shit-sucking vampires. Right here." He paused, waiting for Lucy's reaction. Michael had already gotten up and was halfway out of the kitchen before she opened her mouth.

"Sam," Lucy stated his name quietly, leaning forward to grab one of his hands and pat it, "you know we can't go back to Phoenix. There's nothing there for us anymore, sweety."

"I'm gonna go take your dog for a walk. Let me know when you sober up," Michael threw back at him, immediately drawing a much sterner look from their mother.

"Michael, don't tease your brother," she told him, "Sam, have you been drinking?"

"What?! No!" He pulled his hand away, "I'm not lying, either! Mom, there's vam-"

"That's enough," she stood up from the table, grabbing her empty coffee cup, "I know you didn't want to move here, and I'm sorry, but making up silly stories isn't going to change anything. We're staying."

Michael crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, "I like it here."

Sam knew he was beat. There was no way he'd be able to convince them of the awful truth without someone getting seriously hurt or killed. Mike would be too dumb to figure anything out before it was too late. Mom would be too nice. He could just picture her offering her wrist to a homeless creep with fangs just so he could get a good meal.

He'd have to talk to those Frog brothers. Figure out what he was going to do. That comic they gave him would be another good place to start. Maybe there was a part about corpse proofing the house. Sam was already going to have nightmares anyway, as if all of those creepy stuffed animals in the garage weren't bad enough.

* * *

Star crouched in a corner, nursing her wounds, feeling the small bits of puckered flesh on her cheeks and forehead slowly shrinking beneath her fingers. Surrounded by mirrors in a technicolor funhouse, she wanted to smash every single one of them. They were all reflecting nothing but themselves, the cheap carnival music blasting from the ceiling speakers, and the laughter outside of departing patrons. She should've eaten them. Splashed their blood on the glass to hide the nasty truth that she'd never really see herself again.

When the music cut off to a harsh buzz, and then nothing, Star jerked up. Half of the bulb lights lining the tops and bottoms of the mirrored walls were off. They were closing for the night. Pretty soon everyone would be hurrying home, and Star would have nothing better to do but head back to that old creep's house. Star didn't much like Max.

There was a sudden clicking sound. Or perhaps it was a tap. Every few seconds or so, followed by soft footsteps.

Star drew her lips back. She didn't want to be bothered right now, she hadn't finished licking her wounds. Whoever it was, they certainly weren't going to be making that annoying tapping sound much longer.

Then, an old lady came into focus, or at least the reflection of her did, dimmed by the dimmer lighting. Not that Star would have any trouble seeing her in the dark. Even without her supernatural vision, the woman was hard to miss. Floppy white hat, green chiffon scarves, and a bright matching dress covered in decorations of ivy vines. She looked like she should be a prop in the haunted house the next building over.

"Hello dear," the old lady greeted her. Star's eyes focused on the umbrella the old woman held in front of her like a cane. The end of it was tipped with a sharp little wooden dowel. A miniature stake.

A cornered animal, Star drew up to her full height, pressing her hands against the mirror behind her and hissing, "get the hell away from me!"

"No, I don't think I will." The woman hefted up her umbrella and pointed the end at Star, "go on, get out of here before I lose my temper." She wasn't in the least bit impressed.

Eyes focused on the stake-tipped umbrella, Star lifted her feet until they were pressed up against the mirror as well, and she quickly crab crawled up to the ceiling, safely out of the geriatric hunter's stabbing range.

Star wondered whether it would be a good idea to attempt to tackle her, but quickly decided against it when those cracked lips caked in lipstick a clown would envy opened, and the old hag spoke again. This time, Star couldn't even understand what she was saying, because the minute she had started an awful headache began to hammer through the fledgling's skull, sending her shrieking across the ceiling as the woman continued to chase and attempt to assault her with the umbrella. Poking her like a cockroach along the way.

Dizzy with pain, as the stake caught and scratched at her legs while she went, Star could hardly believe her luck when she finally made it to the fresh air outside, and launched herself into the sky far,  _far_ away from the umbrella and the harridan.

She could still feel her eardrums bleeding by the time she reached Max's house. Star never would find out what the old woman was saying. After all, what vampire could ever listen to the lord's prayer?

* * *

The next night, it rained. So they left their bikes hidden where sand and salt couldn't get to them, and instead took to the sky.

Marko would spend the early evening hours trading spots with nervous girls on the carousel, until fear gave way to charm. He was good at that sort of thing.

Paul raided his favorite liquor store, paying with crumpled bills and grinning threats.

Dwayne wasn't exactly sure  _where_ David went, but he was sure he'd find out later. Then, of course, Dwayne swiped a few stationary supplies to get to work on the project their leader had given him for the night. While he worked, he had plenty of time to think.

Once, every so often, they would split up. All four of them. Each would seek out something fun to do or bring back to the others, though usually just a meal. It was rare, but it  _did_ happen. Dwayne recalled a few who had come and gone through their little pack, impermanent fixtures like Star, those before her and those who would likely follow. None of them had ever seemed to fit, though. Square pegs in round holes.

The difference between the others, all dead, and the Lost Boys, was hard to define. It was a  _feeling._ Maybe because David hadn't been the one to pick them. Star had been the closest they'd even come to that, and still she wasn't right. The moment she'd figured out immortality came with a price, and much more. She was broken. A twisting plastic ballerina in a music box who'd lost her will to spin. There was still a mechanical ticking inside, and still a song, but nothing more. Even in their short fight on the beach, he'd learned that much. It wouldn't be long before her music box stopped working altogether.

By the time he'd finished with his project, Dwayne was fairly proud of himself. Papering them all along boards and walls throughout the boardwalk hardly drew anyone's attention. Even though people were usually posting one photograph or another of one of their snacks, or some other pack's,  _ads_ were a very rare sight on these missing persons billboards. Certainly not help wanted signs either. He made sure at least three of them ended up on the window of Max's video shop before the old fuck came in, just to make sure David got the reaction he was looking for. This was going to be a hell of a week.

* * *

If Lucy hadn't been so tired when she got home from work that evening, she probably would have stopped to check on Sam. If she had, she'd have seen the telephone cord poking out from beneath his comforter, while he sat hidden beneath it with a flashlight shining through the fabric.

The conversation she might have overheard would very likely have gotten her son a one-way ticket to the psychiatrist's office, too.

"So, you closed the store tonight?" He asked, staring down in horrified fascination at the image of a grimacing vampire tearing into a woman's jugular. After his brush with death, these cartoons didn't come nearly close enough to the real thing. Still, he was learning a lot.

"Yeah," Edgar Frog grumbled over the phone, "Saturdays we train."

" _Train?"_

"Gotta keep the muscles primed for bloodsucker attacks at any minute," Alan chimed in, and Sam wondered exactly how they were both sharing the line at the same time. Maybe they were using the same headset. They kinda gave off that attached at the hip vibe anyway.

Primed. Sam seriously doubted the Frog brothers were  _that_ good at what they did, but he kept his mouth shut. After the way they'd saved him, maybe he was wrong. No way Sam would've been able to do something like that for a semi-stranger.

"Is it just you two?" He prompted, licking his bottom lip, "I mean, are there other hunters?"

"Not as far as we know. We've got the market cornered here," Edgar responded, almost sounding defensive.

Sam had to admit, it didn't seem like a terrible job. Spray some monster with a bit of fancy water, poke them with sharp sticks, or keep them busy until they broke curfew? Sounded easier than throwing newspapers.

He thought about the graffiti he'd seen on that billboard when they'd been driving into Santa Carla, and then Sam wondered whether vampires had sprayed it.

"Do you need help?"

There was silence. Dead silence on the other end of the line.

"Ed?" Sam paused, frowning, "Alan?"

He wasn't sure, but it almost sounded like they were hissing at each other. Too far from the speaker for him to make out the words.

"Listen," Sam went on, seizing on his chance to explain himself, "I just need cash. For comics, you know? I mean, yeah, it's dangerous. I totally get that. Still, it can't be easy-"

"Yeah." Edgar and Alan snapped out at the same time. "You can tag along," Edgar added, "we'll give you some old issues or something until you help us bag a big one, then we can negotiate-"

Alan cut in, interrupting his brother, "-rates. Gotta see what you're made of first."

"Uh, what?"

Ed cleared his throat, "head vampire. Help us nail a head vampire, and you're in. Monster basher, all the way."

Nanook whined at the foot of Sam's bed. As if some canine premonition was telling him none of this was a very good idea.

* * *

David didn't much like rain. He didn't like the nagging pulse in the back of his mind of Max trying to summon him either. Let the bastard find him if what he wanted was so important. He wasn't in the mood for another condescending little pow-wow twice in one week. Like Max thought he was a collared dog, ready to go whenever the leash tugged at him.

Maybe he shouldn't have dosed Michael with his blood. It was so little, though, David hadn't seen much harm in doing it at the time. He'd done that before, though, with disastrous results. This time would be  _different._ David would be patient. Any day now Max would find a new potential wife to focus all of his attention on, so it wouldn't be too long before he gave the boys a little bit more freedom to do as they liked.

Not that they didn't already, owning the city in all but name, but a happy Max was a  _quiet_ Max. There'd be no more of these demands to visit, run errands, or any of the other bullshit he always seemed to want to waste their time with. David really needed to work up the nerve one of these days to stake the head vampire and be done with Max once and for all. Maybe he'd get lucky, and his plan with Dwayne would work.

He cursed, taking shelter under the covered porch when the rain really began to pour. Fucking  _great._ Now he couldn't smoke. As much fun as it was to wake the neighborhood, David really didn't have any plans to slaughter the people in this particular house tonight. It wouldn't really make the best impression, given how attached Michael seemed to be to his little brother.

Those nagging thoughts from Max tried to push their way into his mind again, the insistent summons, the imperious commands. The whining. David continued to ignore it, instead focusing even harder on the tentative link he'd created with Michael. Only a temporary one, just enough for him to get to know the human a little better before he made a decision. Once he did, after all, there'd be no turning back.

A sudden howl caught his attention, drawing an immediate growl from David's lips. Fuck. They had a dog. He'd have to be careful, then. Mutts didn't tend to get along well with the undead unless they just so happened to be from hell. Even then, Thorn was an asshole.

The dog meant using the front door wasn't an option. He'd draw too much attention, and David didn't want that tonight. Not without the boys around. So, back out into the rain with he went, biting back swears as he snaked along the side of the house hunting for Michael's bedroom window.

Thankfully there was no dog inside. Only Michael in his bed, sleeping. He must have gone to bed early, because the window was cracked just enough for David to pry it open entirely. He waited for the rain to subside a little before slipping into the bedroom. Careful. Silent as the grave.

"Michael," he whispered, pressing into the teen's mind, just forceful enough to grab his half-waking attention.

David grinned, watching the teen stir as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out a cigarette. Tucked safely under his coat, it was thankfully dry. Everyone else in the house should be asleep by now, so he wasn't terribly concerned about the smoke.

* * *

He felt  _weird._ Couldn't tell if he was awake or not. Something was weighing down Michael's arms and legs, while all he could do was just lay there. He knew he should be scared, freaking out, but he wasn't. Like something in his mind decided to just shut off, couldn't be bothered right now to do anything at all.

So Michael blamed it on exhaustion. Too much housework. Lifting his weights a little too frequently. Stress. He ran through every possible cause in his mind, just so he could go back to sleep without worrying that he wasn't going to be able to stand up in the morning.

Then, of course, he heard David, and now Michael had no doubt in his mind that he was just having a weird dream.

"Michael," David whispered, and god this dream was getting so real he could swear he smelled smoke.

"Yeah?" Michael managed to reply, astonished that his voice sounded so normal. Casual. Like he was sitting up and having coffee with David, not trapped in his own body.

"Didn't see you on the boardwalk tonight. Something happen?"

"It's raining," Michael replied, "and I've got a lot of packing up to do here."

"You can put it off," David told him matter-of-factly, and it was pretty damn easy to agree at this point. Grandpa had way too much shit for anyone to get rid of in just a few weeks. The man was a furry corpse hoarder.

"Yeah, I guess. I don't have a job though, I don't have the cash to just hang out every night-"

"We'll get you some."

If he weren't so  _calm_ , Michael might have made a retort at that. If what he'd gleaned from some of the locals around here was true, there was no way any money coming from David or his friends was going to be legal.

Then there were the assholes he'd seen Paul picking that fight with, and especially the one Michael had met himself. Rival gang or whatever they were, would it really be smart to keep hanging out?

"You think too much," David snapped out, just on the verge of sounding testy. "Do you really have anything better to do?"

"Not really," Michael admitted, "but I might have a da-"

"No. You won't." He sounded so confident when he said it.

"I don't see why that's-"

David let out an impatient sigh, "you're coming to the boardwalk tomorrow night, and every night after that. Stop fucking arguing with me."

If only Michael could sit up and punch him in the face. The urge came and went before he even had time to settle on the mental image. Then he felt a hand patting his cheek condescendingly, and smoke puffing against his ear.

"After that, we'll see how far you're willing to go, huh?"

"What the f-"

"Don't worry, Michael. You won't remember any of this in the morning. So just go back to sleep."

The word 'asshole' was just on the tip of Michael's tongue before he thankfully passed out. He didn't feel the fangs cutting into his wounded hand, or the tongue lapping at the blood that welled up there.


	4. Chapter 4

"I'll be glad when school starts, Sam. You need a way to get out of the house without asking me or your brother for a ride every day," Lucy teased her youngest, smoothing freshly-manicured nails through his gelled hair while he remained quiet with a pained expression on his face.

Maybe if he had a bike, it'd be easier to get to the boardwalk. Now that Sam knew about the stuff that could happen to him at night, though, he wasn't too sure he wanted to take that kind of risk. At least Mike could probably out-ride a horde of undead neck-biters if he had to. Sam doubted he'd have that kind of luck on a Huffy.

"Mom, I think I might spend the night with these guys at the comic shop. You think that'd be okay?" He gently extracted her hand from his scalp and guided it back to the steering wheel, while Lucy looked back at him in astonishment as she pulled her car into park.

"You've got friends already?" Lucy broke into a smile, "as long as I meet their parents first, I'm fine with that. Is that why you brought your backpack with you? I thought you were going to sell a few of your old comic books."

"Yeah, I'm gonna do that, and you can meet their parents tonight," he just hoped Ed and Alan's parents weren't those weird stoners he'd seen sleeping against the wall. Probably wouldn't make for good conversation when mom showed up to meet them.

Once they'd parted ways on the boardwalk, Sam was really hit hard by the fact that there really were a  _lot_ of missing persons photos everywhere, Plastered on poles, building sides, every inch of space you could find on any platform or billboard. An ocean of kids, parents, old people, just about every kind of person you could imagine. Why did people still live here?!

He stopped in front of one really large billboard at a four-way crossing of beach shops and snack stalls, eyes scanning over all of the pictures there. Not even one ad for a dog or a piece of ratty furniture for sale. There just wasn't any space for that kinda stuff. The innocuous things he hoped to see that'd make it a hell of a lot easier to sleep at night.

"Whoa!" Sam's eyes snapped open wide when he spotted it. A beacon of white with black marker, and something he just  _knew_ the Frog brothers would want to see. Without thinking, he ripped the paper from its nails, making more space for the weathered pictures beneath it spotted with mildew and rain water.

* * *

Michael left the house before sunset, just after he'd finished packing and labeling the very  _last_ box of junk. Tomorrow he'd help mom load the car to get rid of what they could, but for now he was going to enjoy himself. He didn't feel like staying home tonight, nor did he want to comb through the Sunday paper mom had brought home to see if he could scour out at least one part time job. Frankly, as much as Michael had thought about it the day before, he just didn't want to do much of anything. Just hang out. Make a few friends. Maybe the distraction would be good for him.

The girl he was going to meet up with wasn't answering any of her calls, and leaving more than one message seemed a little to desperate, so he gave up on that. Maybe she had a boyfriend already, decided to just flirt and play with the idea of cheating. He wished she hadn't decided to use him to do it.

He parked his bike against the railing, the same spot as last time. It was a little ridiculous, but he'd half-expected to see the guys from the other night there waiting for him. He leaned against the railing and watched the tide roll in, mango-red sky meeting greyish water. There weren't many people surfing, or doing much of anything on the beach. Seemed like a waste of good weather.

Scratching absent-mindedly around his freshly-changed bandage, Michael scowled. He'd noticed his palm that morning seemed even worse, raw, like the skin had been torn open again. It was clean, though, which didn't make much sense. Hurt to grip his bike handle.

A small group of guys was coming back from the shore. The only surfers out there. The closer the got, the more uncomfortable he became, and when one of them gave him a dirty look Michael shot one right back before he hastily beat a retreat into one of the shops nearby. He'd have to wait until they cleared out before he went back to move his bike. Maybe he could take on that one asshole in a fight, but six of them was a bit much.

In retrospect, pretty much any other shop on the boardwalk would probably have been a better choice. The garage full of dead critters and furry skull projects he'd packed up were  _nothing_ compared to this compact museum of inglorious taxidermy. Michael was no expert, but he'd seen enough jackalopes over the last week to know they weren't supposed to be pop-eyed. Deer, too, weren't supposed to be fat with distended bellies and bits of stuffing poking through the edges of their wired joints.

He wasn't a small guy, but he wasn't huge either. Michael felt like Gulliver, as packed as all of the shelves in the place were, so close together he almost had to hold his breath to edge through.

At the front of it all, the master of this stuffed circus, was none other than the old man's piece on the side. Hattie. Johnson.

She was leaning over a newspaper at the front counter, just beside a rusted cage with an eye-less stuffed parrot inside. He hadn't even thought it was possible for her to look even  _more_ eccentric than the last time (and first) they'd met, but somehow she managed. Between the red paisley caftan, the lady-bug pillbox hat, and the bright red netting veil with black spots that sprouted from the hat to drape over her face, it was like she was prepared to attend the red queen's funeral. Probably paint a couple of fucking roses while she was at it, too.

"Ohhhhh, I know this one!" She shouted in a sing-song voice, scrawling down something on the newspaper, "formalde-" she paused, frowning and sucking at her wrinkled bottom lip, probably ingesting a pound of lipstick in the process, "no, too many letters."

Thank  _god_ she hadn't spotted him yet. There was still time to escape and take his chances with the punks outside.

The fates were not on Michael's side today, and apparently neither was his sense of balance, because when he tried to beat his hasty retreat he only ended up stumbling into an enormous wind-chime made of sand dollars and bleached little bone fragments, tangling his arms in them and very nearly colliding into a shelf as he tried to break free.

"Oh!" Hattie Johnson shouted, billowing away from her counter, across the store, and right at him, like a pirate ship with more sail than actual wood to support it, "Michael Emerson, why speak of the devil, I was just talking about you!" She exclaimed, helping him untangle the strings of chimes from his arms.

"Sorry, I was looking for a different store," he apologized, and very nearly made his escape before a bony hand clamped firmly onto his shoulder.

"Now, what do we have here?" She looked down at his bandaged hand. "You hurt yourself, darling?"

"I'm fine, it's just a cut. It's fine."

"Oh no, let me look at that, it's dripping!" She grabbed his hand, lifting it up to her face and squinting at it, because clearly she'd need a telescope to see  _anything._  "Here, you follow me to the back, and I'll get this cleaned up."

"You don't have to, really-"

He had no choice. He was driven to the back of the shop through a mysterious beaded curtain, and very nearly slammed down into a cracked leather easy chair behind it. "You wait  _here,_ " she told him, patting his uninjured hand and rushing out through the beaded curtain, the same way they'd come.

Michael was stunned, staring after her, confused, and a little dizzy from everything happening all at once. He hadn't known his grandpa that well, but if this was the kind of chick he spent his nights with, he must've been pretty damn crazy. He'd had the garage to prove it, come to think of it.

Hattie returned with a first aid kit, beaming down at him, "you know, my husband used to hurt himself just about every night trying to make those things out there," she waved through the curtain towards the shop floor, "your grandpa was a much better taxidermist, god rest both of their souls. Now, hold out your hand."

He stared back up at her, hesitant, a deer in headlights. Michael hated to think what would happen if he tried to fight the old lady, so he reluctantly lifted his hand to let her unwrap the bandage he'd fashioned from an old shirt.

"Tut tut, this is going to get infected if you don't look after it a little better," she scolded him, balancing her kit on the edge of the chair's arm and flipping it open to grab a large bottle of iodine.

"So, what happened?" Her smile grew, "did you get into a little tiff about a girl? You seem like the type. Your grandpa was the type."

"No, there was this as-" Michael cut himself off, " _guy_ who tried to hassle Sam. Listen, I don't want to bother you, it's really okay, I can just leave-"

"Stay." She frowned, "you aren't leaving until we have this taken care of," one wrinkled hand dug into a large pocket at the front of her caftan, and she yanked out a thick pair of bottle coke lenses to slam over her nose so she could better examine the wound as she dabbed a few cotton balls into the iodine.

The time it took for her to just stare at his hand, turning it over and squint while the iodine-soaked cotton balls remained unmoving in her grip, was excruciating. It felt like his palm was a book, and she'd just gotten to the good part.

"Looks like this got torn open recently," she glanced back up at him, "catch it on a couple of nails?"

"What?"

He took in a sharp breath when she pressed the cotton balls to his hand and dabbed at it, "looks like something nasty got to it. No, I wouldn't want many bites like this, sugar. You're lucky you're still walking."

She wasn't making any sense. He wasn't surprised.

"Nothing bit me."

"If you say so," she continued to clean his wound, and he decided then and there that he would never visit Hattie Johnson's shop again if he could help it. The iodine burned almost as bad as actually being cut.

"You know, there's an awful lot of things in Santa Carla.  _Nasty_ things. Sometimes they look real nice. Pretty packages. They didn't always used to be nasty, either. Most of them were just like you and me," she rambled, getting more and more confusing by the second. Dear god, did the woman have some kind of brain tumor?

"That's terrible," Michael humored her, not really knowing what else he could do. If she got worked up, she might do something crazy, like dump the whole bottle onto his hand.

"The point I'm trying to make here is that when you see those nasty things, it's better to just look away. Stay inside. Be extra careful, because once they get an eye on you, and you're still in one piece, maybe you won't be so nice anymore either."

At long last, his hand was wrapped with gauze, released, and Michael very nearly got to make his escape. Of course, that would have been too easy. She still had one last thing to say to him before he ducked outside.

"Michael," Hattie waved at him, closing her first aid kit, "you be a good boy. It's getting dark, and I don't want to have to tell your grandpa I wasn't looking after you boys. Understand?"

"Uh, yeah."

"So you promise me you'll stay out of trouble and go right home?"

He nodded slowly.

"Alright then. You have a good night, you hear?"

He'd try. Maybe after he met up with those guys tonight, he'd be able to shake off the weird feeling he got just being around Hattie Johnson. The woman was insane.

* * *

Max had spent a long time alone. Perhaps too long. He wasn't accustomed to silent eyes, always following him, nor being forced to deal  _directly_ every evening with one of his difficult children. They were all trouble, of course. Boys would be boys. Star was most likely acting up because she wanted more attention, but he simply didn't have the time to stay home and coddle her when he had a store to run and a wife to find. A wife would handle everything. A mother for the children.

He had this same conversation with himself every night, and had for the last century or so. Each passing year seemed to make the need more urgent. David was hardly listening to him anymore, showing up to his summons only every other time they were given. Max was losing control of his family, and  _this_ monstrosity in his hand was the last straw.

Laddie was at home, thankfully drugged with tonight's juice box of his blood. Star was locked in the basement until she learned to address him respectfully, and stop killing his guests. They were not his immediate problems anymore, but the paper grasped in his claw was.

He used his sunshade to guard his face, remaining still in his car as he struggled to control his temper, eyes scanning over the 'ad' he'd had to spend the last hour ripping from every visible display he could find on the boardwalk. The boys were responsible for this. David would have quite the punishment tomorrow evening, once Max was able to calm himself.

"Think of the children," Max mouthed the words aloud, lips pressed into a snarl, " _vampires_ are roaming the streets of Santa Carla. We need hunters to deal with this deadly menace, before it's too late."

There was even a crude  _map_ scrawled out with his address beneath it!

"The source of all evil resides here, and when he's gone, the city can finally rest in peace."

It didn't even read like a proper ad! It was a joke in the poorest of taste. What they were thinking when they decided to play this little prank on him, he hadn't a clue, but this behavior was going to stop.  _Now._

He debated whether he really should let his temper calm, and not go to the hotel immediately to address their challenge, but ultimately decided against it. One more night wouldn't kill him. Maybe they'd even come clean and apologize.

Yes. The guilt would overwhelm them. Even David had  _some_ sense of loyalty to his maker. Max nodded, satisfied with himself as he packed the pile of trash into a small grocery bag in his passenger seat. They were probably even planning to make up for their behavior. Perhaps a birthday party for Laddie. Surely the boy would be turning nine or ten at this point, he deserved a nice cake.

* * *

"Michael, hey!" David lifted a gloved hand to salute the human as he approached them, looking so spooked he almost wondered if he already knew what they were. Even if he did, they'd all parked far too close to his bike for him to make an easy escape. Michael didn't seem like the type to run, though.

"Hi," Michael greeted them all in turn, his freaked-out expression seeming to melt away, "you guys planning anything tonight?"

"Planning?" Marko straightened up, "like what?"

"I dunno. Do you just hang around here all the time watching people?" Michael glanced around, "doesn't really seem like there's much else to do besides watch music or hop on a ride."

David grinned, flicking his cigarette, "you want to do something fun?"

"I do!" Paul exclaimed, slinging an arm around the blonde leader's shoulders and then quickly jumping away when David cast a warning look at him.

It was an interesting challenge. Something fun.  _Without_ killing? David could still taste Michael's blood on his tongue, so he was fine with putting that off for another night. Honestly, he'd enjoy having a little more soon, but best to let the teen recover a little if he didn't want to drain him dry. Had to leave something, after all.

David tried to look thoughtful, "there's a dive bar just outside the city with a great pool table, cheap drinks. We're pretty much regulars there, aren't we?" He looked back at the others, who each nodded eagerly in turn. They weren't regulars at all. Hard to be when half the places you went turned into bloodbaths once they got boring.

The place he had in mind was at least far enough for them not to be recognized. Wouldn't do to have the locals freaking out and ruining the vibe. Casual. Tonight was going to be casual. Except, well, David  _had_ to test Michael. See if he had what it took to be one of them. At least to keep the boys happy.

"Alright," Michael nodded, "sounds good." He was so much less argumentative when he was awake.

They kept to a moderately less dangerous trail, though David and the boys were in no mood to coddle Michael. The race from the boardwalk was brutal, and they didn't ease up until they were well on their way to the bar, where patchy lighting and seedy drunks awaited them. Dwayne and Paul laughed, eliciting a sharp cackle from Marko, and a screeching cheer from David. If they were alive, their hearts would be racing right now. As it was, they could all hear Michael's hammering in his chest.

He kept up, though, and that made all the difference. It meant he had a good chance of being one of them. A better chance than anyone else had in decades

Theirs were the only bikes. Every other vehicle in the parking lot was either a junk heap or an obvious compensation. A good sign that if anything went wrong tonight, or if one of them got a little too carried away, the only people who'd be missed wouldn't have much of a family to go back to anyway. Guys with wheels like that rarely had happy little home lives.

"You'll like it here, Michael," David told the human, slinging an arm around his shoulder as he led them all inside. Dwayne hopped over to the bar to order their beers, while Paul and Marko rushed to a ratty pool table at the corner of the bar to claim the space. There wasn't a line.

Michael smirked, "doesn't look like much."

"You have no idea," David shook his head, "trust me, any minute now something big is going to happen to keep your head spinning for days."

He looked at his surroundings doubtfully, but didn't argue, "if you say so."

They walked over to the pool table and Marko passed out the cues, "you know the rules?" Marko looked over at Michael.

He nodded in response, "who's playing first?"

Paul held up a hand and David took a position at one edge of the pool table, "you and Marko just sit this one out, then you can take the winner. Sound good?"

"Yeah, that's fine." Michael sat down at a booth Dwayne had claimed, distributing frosty mugs of beer around the table. Paul, meanwhile, wasted no time grinding a square of chalk pointlessly on the end of his cue, just to keep busy while he tried to pick a mark. There were maybe eight or nine others in the bar tonight at most, and almost all of them seemed to be bitterly confined to their own little liquor-soaked worlds.

David grinned, setting the table as he watched Paul, whispering in his mind, " _make it a good one. I want this to last."_

Paul's eyes danced with vicious delight when he settled his attention on the biggest guy there. Beefy. Hairy. This one would take more than a couple of punches for any normal person to take down. David didn't even have to say anything, they all knew he'd be perfect.

" _Alright, go for it,"_ David nodded, readying himself to make his first move at the table.

* * *

"Having fun yet, Mikey?" Marko prodded, watching him as he gulped down some of his beer. These guys always seemed to be silently laughing at something. Maybe someday they'd let him in on whatever the joke was.

"I guess," Michael shrugged. He directed his attention towards the pool table. David seemed to be a lot more intent on the game than Paul. Then again, it wasn't Paul's turn.

"So how'd you guys get those rides? Rich parents?" Michael had worked hard for his bike last summer, and what he hadn't been able to earn, he'd scraped together from what he could get from family. He suspected these guys had a lot more money to spend than him, especially after the move.

"Nah," Dwayne shook his head, "they were practically giving them away. Begged us to take them."

"They?"

"Friends," Marko explained, "pretty much just some meal tickets. We play nice with them, they play nice with us."

If he'd had any doubt in his mind before that this was a gang, that answer pretty much sealed it. He should probably leave now. Go home. Avoid giving his mom a reason to worry about him, but Michael got an odd feeling at the thought. Then he noticed David wasn't focusing on the game anymore, but on him, and it was like they could all read his mind, so he just shrugged the thought away and took another gulp of beer. As long as he didn't get involved with anything shady, there was no harm in hanging out.

He felt a little out of place here, wearing his cardinals shirt and jeans. An all american teen surrounding himself with the 'wrong crowd', but frankly, everyone in Santa Carla pretty much looked like they fell into that category. Like it was a rite of passage for the locals to either turn beach bum or bleach blonde.

David made his move at the pool table, trading off to Paul so he could lean his cue up alongside a railing beside the booth the rest of them were seated in. Michael wasn't exactly focused on their game anymore, though. There was something really weird going on at the bar.

A drunk about the size of a freight train was violently, yes  _violently,_ tossing back shots of liquor, splashing half of it on the floor in the process. The bartender was staring at him in bewilderment, snatching back the bottle he'd used to pour the shots before the man could grab at it.

As if that was the mammoth's cue to start trouble, he rounded towards the pool table as he wiped at his neckbeard with the back of his hairy arm.

David watched Paul expectantly, and Michael could only assume he was just anxious to make his next move, but Michael was still a little distracted, "uh, David, theres-"

The drunken bar warrior gave a loud bellow and started barreling towards the blonde leader before Michael could finish his sentence, and without thinking he jumped up to do something. He was just a little too slow to prevent the guy from colliding with David and very likely knocking the breath out of him and grip the blonde's hair with two sets of stubby, reddened fingers.

Two for two, these guys just seemed to  _invite_ trouble wherever they went. Still, Michael couldn't in good conscience let David get beat to a bloody pulp, so he did what any good samaritan with poor judgment would do, and snapped up David's discarded pool cue, shattering it over the drunk's skull with one good swing.

This did  _slowly_ seem to get the guy's attention, and he happily released his hold on David to focus on breaking Michael's neck instead. He was ready, though, and when they were face-to-face, Michael threw all of his strength into decking the guy. With his injured hand.

_Fuck!_

David and the others crowded around them as Michael stepped back trying his best not to let the excruciating pain in his hand show on his face, while the hairy behemoth staggered and blinked red-rimmed eyes back at Michael as if he couldn't believe what had just happened.

Michael hadn't planned to pick fights when he got to Santa Carla, and maybe part of the problem was hanging out at a dive bar, which meant he couldn't really be mad at Sam for doing something just a little dumber. If it weren't for the ham-fists flying back at him, he might have contemplated his poor choices a little longer.

He held his own. He wasn't a pushover, after all, and while the guy in front of him was certainly twice his size, most of that weight was beer fat. So Michael was actually able to avoid the worst of the assault, and it was fairly clear nobody else was going to come over to help them.

If he'd looked at anyone else in the bar, he would've seen glazed eyes and dazed expressions. As it was, only David and the boys were really enjoying the show, especially when the drunk finally seemed to have had enough, as Michael broke his still-full mug of beer over the guy's head, sending him falling to the ground in a heap. Some of the tables beside them shuddered with the impact.

"Holy shit," Michael groaned, using his good hand to rub tenderly at his cheek where the guy had managed to land at least one meaty punch. He was going to have to make up something good tomorrow. Maybe blame it on a falling antelope head or something.

"Nice one, Michael," David patted him on the shoulder, and Michael glared back at him.

"You could've helped."

"You looked like you were handling it pretty well," David replied, "but thanks. You helped me prove something tonight."

"Yeah? What's that?" Michael scowled.

"Paul can't play for shit."

* * *

"So this is the place?" Sam asked, double checking and triple checking the backpack full of tools he'd been toting. His mom might not have liked the looks of Ed and Alan's parents last night, but somehow the Frog brothers had managed to charm her enough into letting him spend the night. It was just as well. He couldn't believe his luck! A vampire had practically fallen into their laps with a stake wrapped in a nice ribbon and a bullseye on its chest.

"Source of all evil," Edgar whispered darkly, gleefully. "That's what the ad says, isn't it? Source of all evil."

Alan nodded beside him, passing a tin of grease paint to Sam before double checking his own supplies. They were loaded up, ready to face anything. It was going to be a lot easier than Sam expected his first hunt to be. He hadn't believed they'd be able to catch one during the day.

"You know what that means? Could be the main one. The head honcho. If we take this vampire out, who knows how many lives we're gonna save?" Alan chimed in, "imagine all the cash we'll get when people find out  _we're_ the ones who did it," he made a dramatic gesture towards his chest as if he was ramming a stake in, twisting it, and going into immediate death spasms.

"We're-" Sam hesitated, "we're gonna check first, right?"

"What do you mean?" Edgar directed his attention to the new, but as of yet un-initiated member of their monster hunting squad.

"We're gonna  _make sure_ we're not just breaking into some normal guy's house and trying to stake an innocent person, right?"

Alan slapped him on the back, "hey, if he or  _she_ is in there sleeping in a coffin, isn't that proof enough?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "I guess you're right. You think there's more than one?"

Edgar shrugged, "probably."

It was hard to believe that behind that freshly-painted fence and granny-style lawn lay a cold-blooded killer. Would it look like the last one? Or something even worse? Images of the comics he'd studied at the Frog brothers house last night flashed through his mind. Almost made him wonder if they were autobiographical.

"Hey, wait!" Sam grabbed Edgar Frog's shoulders when he made a move to open the gate, "Ed, what if there's something else there waiting to attack?"

"Whaddya mean?" Ed rounded on him, looking thoroughly unimpressed with Sam's caution. He was clearly a 'stake first, ask questions later' kinda guy.

"Well, I mean, look," Sam reached into his back pocket and yanked out his rolled-up issue of vampires everywhere, "what if there's a hound of hell ready to play fetch with our skulls? This thing says head vampires have them keep guard during the day. If this shit-sucker  _is_ a big one, wouldn't he have a hell hound too?"

Alan snorted, "Sam, you can't believe everything you read."

Sam looked back and forth at them, exasperated, "so, what, like half of this stuff is bogus?!"

"No, it's fact," Edgar straightened up, "look,  _we're_ the experts here. You're just a rookie. You'll be fine as long as you follow my lead."

For a moment, Sam seriously reconsidered whether he really wanted to do this. The only thing that kept him standing there with the Frog brothers in the midday sun was the fact that their dad was asleep at the wheel and probably wasn't going to be up for driving for a good thirty minutes or more, and Sam couldn't just  _let_ whatever monster was inside that house kill any more people tonight.

"Alright," Sam took a deep breath and let it out, "let's go!"

"CHARGE!" Edgar bellowed, slamming the gate open and running straight for the front door.

Everything else seemed to happen in agonizingly slow motion.

A giant white german shepherd came peeling around the side of the house at full speed, his screeching bark and snapping jaw vicious enough to put Cujo to shame. Sam didn't even need to see Edgar's face go from determined bravery to overwhelming fear to know it had flipped on a dime even as the gruff Frog brother tried to backpedal. Not so easy to do when you're already running in one direction.

"Edgar!" Alan shouted, diving past the opening of the gate with his water pistols at the ready, "drink holy scum, death dog!"

Holy scum? Death dog? Sam shook his head, taking the opportunity while the otherworldly mutt was distracted to make a beeline for the front door. The hellhound couldn't chase three of them at once.

"Alan, it's not working!" Edgar shouted, scrambling around to the side of the house to avoid having his legs chomped off.

"I don't know what to do!" Alan shouted back, "the comics don't say shit about how to kill a hellhound!" He was on the verge of whining now, while Sam tried to open the front door. It didn't work.

Sam whimpered, tossing his backpack to the porch so he could dig through it for something to use. A hammer. A mallet. Anything good and metal he could use to smash open the door. His hands were shaking, though. His muscles just refused to work. It was like he was trapped in a nightmare, watching himself move and having no control over it, so he did the next best thing before he ran out of time, and he did it fast. The dog was running for him, and Ed had managed to climb a tree around the side of the house, even though his ankle was bloodied, his pants torn to shreds.

Sam shoved everything back into his bag and spun towards a window near the front door, swinging the bag around with all of his might to break the glass.

_**CRASH!** _

It was almost too easy. He didn't have time to gloat, though, even with Alan throwing shit at the dog, Sam was the more immediate danger for its master. So he threw his bag through the shattered opening in the window and dove through. Bright afternoon sun disappeared, and snapping jaws yanked Sam's shoe right off, but he made it. It one piece.

He made it. He made it!

"I made i-HOLY CRAP!" Sam shrieked, coming face-to-face with a small boy holding a juice box and staring straight at him from the safety of a small white love seat.

Oh god. This was a normal house. No vampires. Just a bad dog...plenty of people had bad dogs. Hell, his gym teacher in Phoenix had like 8 of them! They were going to be arrested, they were going to be sued! They were going to jai-

"He's in the back," the little boy pointed towards a door.

"Wh-what?" Sam stammered, scooping up his backpack.

"You're looking for-" the kid hesitated, blinking several times and taking one long sip from his juice box. It had to be some pretty good juice, because he took a good ten seconds or so to continue talking, and when Sam saw the kid's eyes turn gold, he had to admit he was pretty tempted to throw a crucifix at the little imp.

" _Dad."_ The kid mumbled, sad, still dazed. "He's in the back."

Then Sam felt the wind knocked out of him as something from behind slammed him to the ground and crumpled on top of him. It was quickly followed by another figure, landing them all in a heap on the ground.

The Frog brothers had managed to make it into the house, Sam didn't know  _how,_ but they did. Piled on top of him in an inelegant heap.

"Cover the window!" Alan shouted climbing to his feet and grabbing the nearest thing he could, a small end table pressed up against the wall. The dog's head immediately poked through the opening of the broken window, while Alan screamed and kept it out by shoving the end table legs back against it like an incompetent lion tamer.

"Go!" Alan shouted, "nail the vampire!"

Edgar groaned, climbing to all fours, "where is he?" He asked, much less confident than when they'd arrived.

"The kid said he's in the back," Sam explained, grateful to no longer have the weight of them crushing him.

"What kid?" Edgar looked around.

"The one in the chair," Sam explained patiently, climbing to his feet. He had scrapes and cuts on his arms from diving through the broken window, but he was in a much better shape than the Frogs right now.

"There's no one here," Edgar snapped back at Sam, looking around. He was right, too.

"I guess he left," Sam replied, bewildered.

Edgar began to strategize, "okay, you go right, I'll go left. See if one of us can find the head vampire in-"

"Today, please!" Alan shouted, still wrestling with the end table. "This table's not gonna last all day!" He was right, too, one of the legs had already splintered under the force of the wild dog's snapping jaw.

It was definitely weird creeping through a slice of suburbia, expecting at any moment to find a half-rotten corpse, or grimacing skull, but Sam luckily found neither the former nor the latter as he crept from the room. Inside was just as mundane and pleasant as outside; in essence, it was the exact opposite of what any normal person would expect from a modern-day Dracula.

He couldn't believe all the noise they were making hadn't woken anyone. Halfway down the hall and towards the stairs, Sam could still hear Alan's fight with the devil dog at the living room window.

Edgar shouted from the other end of the hall, "I'm gonna check the basement, you think a house like this has a basement?"

Sam cringed, "yes!" He hissed back, doing his best not to disturb whatever was lurking in this house. Even if the Frogs were apparently experienced hunters, they weren't exactly what you'd call subtle, graceful, or smart.

It took forever. Each step seemed to bring with it some other shouted curse from Alan in the living room, or Edgar trying to toss up solid hunting advice for Sam if he found the head vampire first. He'd turn around and run the hell away from this whole mess if they weren't trapped by that stupid dog. No turning back now.

When he reached the top of the stairs, he noticed at the end of the hall there was one room with the door ajar, and Sam decided to check it out first. Looked like any normal bedroom you'd expect to find. Maybe there were a few more tintype photographs on the wall than he'd ever seen. A dresser. A huge bed. Not much else.

He dropped his backpack to the ground, groaning and running his hands through his hair. The window curtains were drawn wide. No way a vampire would sleep somewhere with so much daylight. Now he was seriously getting worried that they'd be trapped there for the rest of the day, and whether it was the hellhound or the vampire, one of the two was going to make him and the Frog brothers into lunchmeat.

Sam trailed over to the bed, glaring at it. Coffins. Vampires slept in coffins, not four posters with lace canopies and flowery comforter sets. There was even a sham. A sham!

He sighed, slumping down and sitting on top of the mattress with a feeling of utter defeat. In the back. The kid had said he was in the back. Did that mean the backyard? How were they supposed to dig the vampire up without old yeller tearing them to shreds? Why was this mattress so hard?

Sam sat up, running his hand over the comforter and feeling the mattress beneath. No, not a mattress. With a yelp, he jumped to his feet, yanking the comforter aside to reveal a huge wooden chest beneath him shaped like a box spring. His blood ran cold and he quickly scrambled back over to his backpack to yank out a stake. His palms were already sweating.

"Holy shhhh-" He began, before he heard some wailing downstairs. Edgar Frog wailing, to be precise.

"Kill it with fire!" Alan shouted, "stake it! Stab it! Do something, Ed!"

"I'm trying, butt-wipe!"

Sam quickly closed the bedroom door, hoping whatever it was they'd run into down there wasn't going to come for him next. One vampire at a time, worst case scenario he'd use that lacy curtain to make a rope or something. It worked in the movies.

"What am I doing here?" Sam mumbled under his breath, edging the top of the weird coffin-like chest open. He had to slide it, since there was no hinge, and it was  _heavy._  The moment the open coffin was exposed to fresh air, shaded by the canopy above, Sam was immediately met with the odor of Aqua Velva and rotting meat. The stake in his right hand trembled as he immediately pulled at the collar of his shirt to help block out the smell.

Inside the coffin, reclining on a bed of dirt, was the definition of mega-dork. Tall, wearing his glasses  _while he slept,_ and though his hands were crossed over his chest like Sam had seen in the comics, that wasn't all. Trapped beneath his clawed grasp was a well-thumbed paperback with huge block letters, which Sam would have to be blind not to see: The Magic of Thinking Big.

"Okay, you got this," Sam took a deep breath. He had to do it. He had to. What if this long-toothed geek decided to snack on mom? She was nice enough to invite just about anyone into the house. Then there was Mike, who was so focused on his own girlfriend problems right now he'd follow any girl with a pretty smile down a dark alleyway. If Sam didn't do this, his family would be in danger.

Sam raised the stake above his head, letting out the breath he'd been holding in, and just as he was about to-

"HOLY HELL!" Edgar shouted, darting into the room with Alan behind him, who quickly slammed the door just as the devil dog rounded the corner, his snout and furry face painted red with  _someone's_ blood.

That finally did it, distracted, Sam turned to look at them, and the eyes of the vampire snapped open. With a loud snarl, he reached for the wannabe hunter.

Sam screamed, stumbling back and grabbing the canopy for support, only to feel it immediately rip beneath his grip and send him tumbling over his own feet. Sunlight streamed into the empty space the canopy used to be, bearing down on the vampire who was trying to reach for Sam's throat.

The monster let out an earth-shattering screech, grabbing at his face and trying to stand up in his coffin, only to allow more sunlight to cover his entire body, smoking in the first instant before he immediately burst into horrible, explosive flames. The force of it knocked Sam back to the ground as he tried to stand, and sent the Frog brothers slamming against the wall in unison.

Dazed, Sam struggled to catch his breath, looking up towards the Frog brothers, and then at the door. There was no more howling or scratching. No barking devil dog.

"Why are you covered in blood?" Sam asked, noticing for the first time that Edgar Frog looked like he'd gotten the full Carrie spa treatment head-to-toe.

"There was another one in the basement," Edgar replied, leaning back against the wall and sliding down to the ground in utter exhaustion.

They were all quiet for awhile, soaking it in. Even though the vampire in front of them was nothing more than a crumpled, burning mass in his coffin, the fire wasn't spreading. It had an almost otherworldly quality, refusing to burn anything but the blackened skeleton in its depths.

"Wow," Sam mouthed, closing his eyes.

Then they all turned their heads at once to look at the bedroom door in sheer terror as it creaked open. The little boy poked his head through, looking at all of them, just as dazed as the three teenagers.

"Thanks," the kid mumbled, looking down at his feet and kicking at a pile of ash that was settled in front of the door.

"Was that-?" Alan blinked, rubbing at his eyes.

"Yeah," the kid answered. "It was."


	5. Chapter 5

The release was immediate. Even in the middle of the day, when only mortal danger could wake any of the boys from their rest, they all  _felt_ Max die. Even David hadn't realized how deep their head vampire's grip was buried in their minds, when suddenly he was just gone. For the first time in over a century, they were truly their own masters.

Tonight, they were going to party.

* * *

Tonight, Lucy was planning a special dinner. Michael had worked so hard in packing and helping with the house, her job was going wonderfully, and Sam had  _friends._ She hadn't honestly expected him to make them so quick, and lord knew he needed them. Sometimes she worried he spent too much time with his comics, or watching TV when they used to actually have a set. At least with friends, though those two boys seemed like quite a handful, she could trust him to stay out of trouble.

There'd been a wonderful deal on some fish at the market, and spur of the moment she thought it would be a wonderful way to celebrate their new life in Santa Carla. A fresh start, that was all they needed. She was almost certain she was ready to let her father go, and put the divorce behind her now. It had only taken a good job to take her mind off of the bad things.

Lucy used a fork to check the fish in the oven, pleased that it was flaking nicely. Any minute now Michael would be back with Sam. She'd sent him to the boardwalk to pick him up while she made dinner, so they could eat at a decent hour.

Poor Michael. How on earth he'd managed to let a box fall on him and bruise his face so badly, she hadn't a clue, but he deserved this treat. He was a good boy. They both were. Lucy was grateful for that.

It was around six when they sat down for dinner. The timing couldn't have been better. No sooner had she finished preparing fresh lime juice for the fish and setting the table, Michael and Sam were striding into the dining room.

"Hey, mom," Sam kissed Lucy on the cheek, "smells good."

She beamed at him, "you seem very happy today. Did you have fun with your friends?"

He shrugged, pulling a chair out from the table, "I guess. They're kinda dramatic, but  _hey_ , their folks just offered me a part-time job for the summer!"

"Oh!" Lucy exclaimed, a little concerned, "just for the summer?" She didn't want him dropping out of school to work at a comic shop. Even her free-spirited father would be spinning in his grave at the thought.

"Just the summer," he clarified.

Michael sat down across from Sam, straightening the cuffs of his leather jacket. She'd noticed it earlier, but hadn't mentioned it, "Michael, where did you get that jacket?"

"Friends," he shrugged, "they had a spare one, said nobody else really wanted it."

She nodded, "just be careful about accepting things from people you barely know. Nothing is ever free." It wasn't at all surprising that Michael had made friends, too. He was certainly leaving the house frequently enough to make them.

"Don't worry," Michael reassured her, "I'll be fine. We're meeting up tonight after dinner."

"Do you have to go out tonight?" She asked, just a little hurt, but covering it up with a slight smile as she dished out portions of fish and watercress salad.

For a moment, he looked confused, staring straight at his plate as if he didn't really understand the question.

"Mike?" Sam waved a hand in front of his brother's face, taking a huge bite of his fish.

"Uh-" Michael jumped, looking back up at them, "we're meeting up tonight after dinner," he repeated, and it sounded very strange. Lucy wouldn't press him, though. He was a good boy. It was still summer. Things would settle down once school started.

* * *

Michael was sure to park his bike somewhere safe tonight, close to a store with plenty of lights, just in case that skin-head and his friends decided to do something to it. The guy clearly had it out for him. Hell, it'd probably be better just to stay home until things cooled down, but it almost felt like that option wasn't on the table. He'd go to the boardwalk every night, and that was it.

There was a reason. He knew there was. Whenever he tried to remember why, though, he got a headache. Even now, he could feel a migraine coming on.

"Michael!" David shouted towards him. It was kinda funny, he sounded like he was just whispering, but when Michael met the blonde's gaze across the crowd parked near some railing he knew the guy had to be shouting.

He quickly made his way over, peering around, "where's everyone else?" It was just David and his bike.

"They're getting the party ready. We're meeting up later."

"Party?" Michael frowned. Nobody had mentioned a party last night.

"Yeah, we're celebrating. Wanna come?"

"I guess," Michael shrugged.

"Here," David reached under his coat and pulled out a flask, "have some, relax a little before we go."

Michael eyed the flask thoughtfully, then slowly shook his head, "nah, I'm fine. Maybe another time. I still don't really know this place that well, don't wanna do something stupid while I'm riding."

A dark expression flitted across David's face, and if Michael hadn't been looking right at him, he'd have missed it, but pretty soon the blonde was giving him that same secret smile he'd come to expect, "alright. Next time I'm not taking no for an answer, though."

"Fair enough." Michael nodded, "next time."

After he'd tucked his flask away, David threw an arm around Michael's shoulders, "you'll like our place. No rules. No bar fights. Just the boys, some booze, some broads, maybe even something special Paul cooked up." Frankly, judging by Paul's example, Michael wasn't exactly sure he was interested in that last one.

"C'mon," David gestured towards his bike, "I'll wait for you."

When they left, it didn't escape Michael's notice that the skinhead and his friends were lingering beside the same shop he'd parked near. He was all too happy to leave them far behind, wondering if maybe he needed to stop bringing his bike to the boardwalk altogether.

He had to push himself hard to keep up with David, a wraith in the fog, and he didn't doubt this was going to be a recurring theme. With all of them. Dwayne, Marko, Paul, David. Candles burning at both ends. Despite himself, a small part of Michael wondered what it would be like to live like them. The aches of his injured cheek and hand were the not so subtle reminders that maybe, just maybe, that probably wasn't the best idea.

Michael couldn't see any stars tonight. Nothing but a film of ink and fog. He could barely make out where they were parking before a gloved hand reached for his and pulled him through the dark, stumbling over rock and sand until his feet met grass, and finally wood.

"How can you see in this shit?" Michael asked, squinting after him. He could just barely make out an outline. Bleached blonde hair painted gray by the night.

"Just following the music, Michael," David tossed back at him.

Music? Yeah, he could hear it now. Hair metal mingling with laughter and shouts.

"Sounds like they started without us," David went on, reaching back to grab Michael's shoulder once or twice when he stumbled over rickety steps. Eventually they were on firm ground again, and the dark around him was pierced by glowing firelight as they stepped through into an odd cave. Or building. A combination of the two.

It was incredible. Cracked and water-stained pillars leaned against each other, some embedded in rocky walls, engraved with faceless women in Grecian robes. Tree roots dangled from the earthen ceiling, some of them tangled with stained glass windows, cracked in a hundred spots, revealing only more earth behind them.

"Nice place," Michael managed to say, in total awe. He only half-heard David's explanation. Used to be a hotel. He could almost picture it, new and rich, sinking into hell as the world opened up to consume it, only to get stuck halfway between the sky and the sea.

"It's all ours," David informed him, cracking a grin as Dwayne passed him by, tossing the blonde a bottle. There were a few people here and there besides the boys, though not many. A pair of girls passing a joint between each other while Paul relaxed in-between them, occasionally leaning over to whisper into one of their ears, before giving Marko or David a sly look.

There had to be at least a hundred candles, some fresh, and far more of them half-burnt, lining the ground of the hotel to make up for the stars that had disappeared tonight. Maybe they'd just come down to enjoy the party.

He shook his head, making his way over to a ratty couch Dwayne had decided to make his home for the time being, and settled down beside him.

"Beer?" Dwayne offered him a bottle, and Michael happily took it, glancing over at David. The leader of the gang had settled himself into a wheelchair, tossing his coat over the back and leaning back with a relaxed sigh.

Across from them was a large defunct fountain, filled with metal scraps and what had once been what Michael could only have imagined was a glorious chandelier. A thin girl reclined there, throwing bedroom eyes at Michael while she ran a hand over the dirt beside the fountain as if it were water. She looked very pale. With the flickering light of the burning candles and oil barrels surrounding them, it almost looked as if blood was dripping from her wrist. If that were true, though, there was no way she'd be so calm.

Marko sat down beside her, accommodating the girl so she could rest her head in his lap.

"Want some more, Barbie?" Marko asked her, brushing a wisp of red hair away from the girl's forehead.

"Name'sh Shamantha," she slurred, closing her eyes and opening them again. " Please lemme-" she was cut off when Marko grabbed the hand she'd been running over the ground, and brought it to his lips, kissing the skin on the inner side of her palm, leading a trail down her wrist.

Michael chose that moment to look away, growing uncomfortable enough to focus on drinking his beer instead. Even if he didn't have his own arm candy, the music was good. The party was fun.

"Paul, stop hogging them!" Dwayne called out, only to be served with a dirty look from the rocker, who'd found one of his two groupies nestled against his shoulder. Michael took another gulp of beer, bewildered at how quickly she'd fallen asleep. Whatever they were smoking had to be pretty fucking strong.

He marveled at this strange place, this subterranean tribute to hedonism. Some of the oil barrels burned furiously, while others held mountains of cans and bottles in memory of celebrations past. It was nice for just a moment to pretend he was one of these guys, not the responsible son keeping his family together. The team captain with mediocre grades. Not just someone who'd seen his glory in sports and a couple of girlfriends, keeping his younger brother safe. Tonight, he was just Michael.

Dwayne stood up, trailing over to Paul's spare, but very lively girlfriend, then quickly knelt in front of her to cup the girl's chin in his hand. Paul glared at him, but said nothing, pulling the sleeping one into his lap and pressing his mouth against her shoulder bared by a fallen bra strap. Her tan line was so stark, even from where he was sitting Michael could trace it with his finger.

"Michael," David caught his attention, "having fun yet?" The blonde, who had for the most part always looked coolly amused, had a very strange look in his eyes now. Intense. If it weren't for the fire casting shadows and playing tricks, Michael could have sworn his eyes had turned gold.

He nodded, feeling oddly at peace when he met David's eyes. Suddenly, it didn't seem so weird that Paul and Marko were making out with narcoleptic beach bunnies. It was perfectly normal. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Dwayne slow dancing with his chosen partner, while the staticy radio melted into some song by The Doors. Strange Days.

It took a lot of effort to tear his eyes away from David's, and look down at his beer suspiciously. Had they put something funny in it? Why did he feel so relaxed?

Michael didn't see the unnatural way Dwayne pressed his dancing partner back, how rubbery her spine seemed to be as he dug his teeth into her neck and tore at fresh pink skin until blood welled up and drenched his face. He didn't see Marko scoop his own girlfriend into his arms and unceremoniously dump her into an empty space in the fountain. He didn't even see Paul's claws digging into the back of the unconscious girl beside him, viciously tugging at a gaping wound on her shoulder to get every last bit of blood he could.

To Michael's ears right now, the pitiful screams of Dwayne's partner melting into empty gurgles must have been something weird coming off of the radio. Like a DJ screwing around with the track and throwing in his own idiotic jokes.

David was standing over him now. All he could do was blink up at him and stare back at those hungry eyes. Definitely gold now. No trick of light.

"David?" Michael said his name, still calm, confused.

"Go to sleep, Michael. You can crash here tonight."

His beer fell from his hands, clattering to the hotel floor, and spilling out into a whitish froth, washing away thin trails of old blood staining the ground. Distantly, Michael felt a sharp pain in his wrist, but he was too tired to do anything about it.

* * *

Sam stared at the spread of crude drawings across the foot of his bed, glaring at each and every one of them with a critical eye. They were all 'okay', but none of them really provoked the terror he'd experienced at the jaws of the hellhound, in the grasp of the she-demon, or even hovering over the master dork-pire. There was one that looked passable enough to at least grab some attention, and as he reached for it Nanook took that opportunity to leap onto Sam's bed, scattering and crushing all of the drawings beneath him.

"Nanook!" Sam protested, trying to give the behemoth of a husky a good shove. Nanook whined in response, slumping down and placing his chin firmly in Sam's lap.

"Alright, boy, I know I haven't been paying a lotta attention to you lately," he relented, stroking behind one furry ear, "but I gotta pick out a good ad. Ed and Alan are coming over today, and we've got work to do!"

Nanook stared up at him, un-phased.

"So it's gonna be like that?"

A stubborn huff, followed by a couple of toothy yawns. The husky would have to be physically removed. Sam didn't have the heart to do it.

"Mom!" Sam shouted, "can you take Nanook out?"

"He's your dog, Sam!" Lucy called back, using the ultimate mom-voice to quell any possible arguments.

"Alright, move your fat butt," Sam commanded half-heartedly, leaning forward to tug a few crumpled drawings from beneath Nanook's immovable form. Most of them were throwaways. Oblong sketches of Bella Lugosi or that creepy thin vampire guy from silent movies, the one with the rat teeth. Edgar and Sam had sent him home after they'd cleaned up from the hunt yesterday and given him a stack of their ads to proofread. See which ones passed muster, or which ones would grab people's attention.

So far, it was just a mess. He'd have expected something a little more impressive, a little more professional. How long had they been hunting, anyway?

Maybe he could get Mike to help. His brother wasn't much for brains, so Sam would probably have to go into overtime just trying to teach him where a stake went, but Mike was strong. He was the muscle that neither Edgar, nor Alan, nor Sam had. Even combined they probably couldn't take him without pulling a dirty trick.

He wasn't home, though. Come to think of it, Sam hadn't seen his brother since yesterday afternoon, and he  _knew_ Mike wasn't in the house that morning when he'd woken up. His bike was gone. Weird.

A guttural whine from Nanook caught Sam's attention, "are you just needy today, boy?" Sam rolled his eyes, "okay. I'll take you out. See if Mike's back yet." He'd have heard him by now outside. The walls weren't exactly sound-proof.

Maybe Nanook could help, sniff out bloodsuckers if Sam got a hold of some grave dirt to help him remember the scent. Was that what they smelled like? Dirt? He scowled, remembering the little contact he'd had with the head vampire, and the only scent he could clearly remember was the heavy aftershave. Somehow Sam doubted they all smelled  _that_ bad. Did the other one smell like dirt? Not really. Blood and flowers, maybe. Something decaying beneath it. Like wet sheets left in the washer a little too long, or forgotten in the garage for a month.

By the time Sam was outside, he knew without a doubt his brother wasn't home yet. It had to be about twelve in the afternoon now. The sudden thought that a vampire had gotten to his brother grabbed at his heart and shoved it down into the pit of his stomach.

"Oh god," Sam exclaimed, unable to stop himself from picturing his brother in an alley somewhere, pale and drained of blood. Throat ripped open like a candy wrapper. He'd just be another picture on the local news, plastered on the thousands of missing persons billboards around Santa Carla. What would that do to mom? Would she go looking for him at night?!

Then maybe she'd come home, and crying, and go crazy. Maybe she'd pop a handful of valium before taking Nanook out to help search. Then they'd  _both_ end up as chew toys for the ungrateful dead. Shit! What was to stop the whole city's bloodsucker population from tracking him down and turning their Texas chainsaw house into an all-you-can-eat Emerson buffet?

Hopefully Mike would be home soon, before Sam convinced himself the world was ending in a bloody vampire apocalypse with him as the main course.

* * *

Hazy sunlight stretched through the entranceway of the hotel, stopping short long before it could reach the couch. Michael woke in the late afternoon, sluggish, exhausted. The bandage on his hand was missing. When he sat up, he pressed that same hand to his forehead, groaning. Felt like he'd been hit by a freight train, even though he  _knew_ he hadn't even finished one beer last night.

Last night. Shit. Mom was probably freaking out by now, and he seriously doubted Sam was making her feel better. Knowing his little brother, he'd probably be quoting missing persons ads from the paper, or bringing up that stupid vampire bullshit again. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Sam really needed a hobby. Or a girlfriend.

Michael lowered his hand, examining the cut there. It wasn't getting any better. Looked just as fresh as when he'd been cut, except it wasn't bleeding. The skin around the edges were puckered a little. Was he scratching it open in his sleep, maybe? He'd have to just bite the bullet and go to a doctor, or maybe the clinic, and give dad a call to see if he could get some extra money.

He stood up, peering around the hotel lobby. In the dim light of day, what little he could make out, the place didn't seem quite so mystical. More like a disused junk room. Maybe the guys were around here somewhere sleeping it off. They had to be  _trashed_.

Strolling around the room, he picked through odd piles of trash or junk, glanced at a couple of novelty photographs of David and the others dressed up like cowboys. Or maybe cattle rustlers. God knew how drunk they had to be when they decided to do that.

Michael finally wandered over to the wheelchair, settling down into it with a sigh. There was a lighter there and a pack of cigarettes on the ground nearby. Michael snatched up the lighter, and fashioned what he could out of what was available. A few old shirts, a stick with burnt edges discarded by the side of an oil barrel, and a dented can of lighter fluid. He felt like a leather-wearing boy scout right now. Or just a dumbass trying to waste time before he worked up the nerve to go home.

His makeshift torch wasn't pretty, nor safe, but it got the job done. He just had to find out if there was more to this place than just the lobby, or if the earth had eaten the rest of the hotel before the boys could claim it for their cozy little club.

A little voice told him this was a stupid idea. Hadn't he been through enough in the last few days? What if he stumbled into a pit and broke his leg, or got swarmed by rabid bats? Michael shrugged his doubts aside and walked towards the very edge of the lobby, where a thin stretch of cobweb curtain led into darkness. Black. Endless. He used the torch, dripping with sparks, to burn away at the spider silk until there was enough room for him to walk through.

At times, it felt like he was walking through massive caverns, precarious beams supporting bits of earth that only defied gravity for the hell of it. Then, there were places Michael thought he was going to find himself at a dead end, as narrow as his path became. At those points, he held his torch ahead of him to be sure he wasn't walking into a stubborn crevice. He always made sure the light was low enough so he could see where he was walking.

He didn't know why he was so curious, or being so stupid right now. Maybe the last few days of playing everything by ear with a group of maniacs was rubbing off on him. Distantly, Michael heard the sound of water. Not exactly rushing, but trickling. Like a faucet. He followed the sound, his footing growing more confident, his path becoming a little less difficult. Hopefully he wasn't just getting himself lost. Shouting for help would just bring the whole damn place down.

When Michael finally found the source of the trickling water, he very nearly tripped over something large and soft. His torch went flying, extinguishing itself once it smacked into the wall and rolled to the ground. A glowing red dot was all he could see, as it shifted into darkness.

"Shhhh-" he began a curse, catching himself short as he knelt down slowly to find out what he'd tripped over. Fuck, he hoped it wasn't a dead body. Why would there be a body here, though? That was stupid. David said this place went down decades ago, there was no way anybody who'd died would still have enough flesh left on them to be soft, and this was definitely soft. Definitely a person, too.

"Hey," Michael whispered under his breath, grabbing what felt like a cloth-covered shoulder. "You alive?"

A soft growl. It didn't sound human, but it  _had_ to be. Suddenly, Michael felt very small. The growl melted into a grumble, though, and finally ended. Then a hand with very sharp nails reached up to grip at Michael's shirt, and it was all he could do not to stumble back into god only knew what. He couldn't see anything, after all.

"Michael." It wasn't a question. It was a moody statement of fact.

"David?!" He blurted out in response, not sure whether he was relieved or even more freaked out.

There was a soft ' _click_ ', and a light flashed right into Michael's eyes, making him flinch and hold up a hand to shield his eyes. David was lying on a pile of flattened throw pillows, all of them old, and had very likely been there longer than either of them was even born. Then again, he couldn't really see well enough to judge.

"What the hell, man?" Michael demanded now, gradually calming down after he'd managed to blink a few times and the flashlight David directed at him was lowered enough to soften the glow.

"We didn't feel like driving home," David replied simply, his voice a little sluggish. He looked like hell. That party really must have been a shit-show after Michael crashed.

"Why didn't you stay out there?! Shit, you could get yourself killed back here." Never mind the fact that Michael had been blindly exploring the place for the last half hour.

Apparently he'd said something funny, because David burst out into eerie laughter so loud, it was multiplying into a barbershop quartet across the echoing walls of the cave. Michael grew a little nervous when he saw a small dusting of earth float down between them.

Once the laughter died, Michael could swear he heard rustling nearby, but managed to ignore it. He wasn't going to let this place get to him. The last thing he needed was for David to think he was afraid of the dark like Sam.

"Don't worry about it, Michael," David handed him the flashlight, "I'll be fine. We're always hanging around  _somewhere_ back here. It's safer than you'd think."

Michael narrowed his eyes, taking the flashlight without complaint, "don't you need one?"

"Nah," David waved him off, bringing his gloved fist to his mouth to hold back a yawn, suddenly looking even  _more_ like death warmed over. Clearly not a morning person. Day person. Whatever.

"You sure?"

"I've got plenty of flashlights. Go on."

Michael slowly stood up, wondering not for the first time whether it really was a good idea to hang out with these guys.

"Bye, David," Michael told him, determined that when he finally made his way out of there, he was going to spend a few good weeks at home doing absolutely nothing that could get his neck broken.

"Michael," David said his name just as he turned to leave.

"Yeah?" Michael paused mid-step.

"See you tonight."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Then, just like that, he was leaving. A numbing calmness seemed to spread down the back of his neck like an ice bath, chilling his spine. He'd come back tonight. Of course he would. There was no real reason he shouldn't, right?

Once the human had left, Marko, Dwayne, and Paul slithered through the darkness towards their leader, tired yellow eyes exchanging hungry looks. Hard not to go into survival mode when someone came nosing around.

" _What was the point of that?_ " Dwayne's voice echoed in their minds together, on the collective wave of thoughts they exchanged as naturally as a living person might breathe. It was far more comfortable than talking.

" _He should've taken the blood last night,_ " David admitted darkly, " _just a little warning. That's all._ "

" _Can we go back up now? My back is fucking killing me,_ " Marko complained. " _Feels like I'm being stabbed._ "

David was all too happy to comply, and they all took flight to their perches above. One place of many.

* * *

"Okay," Lucy patted Sam's knee as she parked the car. "I have to pick up some groceries, so I won't be long, but have fun with your friends." Her thin smile wavered, just enough for him to know she wasn't quite as happy today as she pretended, "let me know if you see your brother, okay, honey?"

"Y-"

"I  _know_ he's grown, old enough to look after himself, but this is a new place. I don't know where he went, I don't know why, and it's just not like him. Not to mention all those poor children disappearing day in and day out. Honestly, Sam, I'm sure he's fine. I'm sure. I'm sure he is." She repeated that a few more times, just to reassure herself.

" _Mom_!" Sam stressed the word, "I'll let you know, alright?" Then it was his turn to fake a smile, "he's probably with a girl or something. Y'know. Muscle-brains and all that, he just didn't think he needed to call us."

"Don't call your brother that," she chided, "but you're probably right. I know this move has been rough, too, so I suppose both of you deserve to enjoy yourselves. Maybe Michael made a few friends like you did. He's always been very popular. There are probably a few gyms around here. If he did something silly, maybe drank something, I guess he decided not to drive home. I don't really want him to drink, but I don't want him to drink and  _drive_ either, and he really should have called-"

Sam gave her a funny look, "mom," he put a hand on her knee, "he's fine." It twisted his stomach into a knot and a couple of somersaults, lying to her like that, but Sam just couldn't tell her he thought his brother was dead. Not until he knew. She could be right, after all.

"Alright, I'll come back to pick you up when I'm done shopping. Do you need anything?"

"No," he shook his head, "well, maybe. I've been craving garlic lately. Lots of it."

She gave him an odd look, "garlic?"

Sam nodded, "yeah."

"Alright, if that's what you want, I'll get you some garlic."

"Lots of it."

Lucy paused, before finally nodding and laughing a little in response, "lots of it."

Despite her clear concern for Sam's odd cravings, she let him go and drove off, though she waited until he was safely surrounded by people. Sam gave his mom a reassuring wave, then rushed towards the comic shop, patting the folder he'd tucked safely under his brightly-colored coat. Thank god for unreasonably large inner pockets. The pictures he'd been sorting through on his bed were safe and sound, including a few new ones he'd spent the last few hours perfecting for their new ads. The ones they were going to plaster on every visible surface in Santa Carla. Screw getting a paper route, Sam wanted  _real_ money.

Okay, so maybe it meant he had to risk his neck just a little, and put his life in the hands of Edgar and Alan Frog on a regular basis, but they'd survived this long, hadn't they? Sam just had to make himself believe that they really were the great hunters they said they were, despite the fact that he was pretty sure dumb luck was the only real reason they'd survived their trip to the royal dork-pire's little slice of hell in the burbs.

Ed and Alan were pulling the same tricks they'd used to try to reel Sam in. Without the holy water. They were stalking a pair of customers through a couple of shelves, and he didn't need to be close enough to hear Ed's ominous warnings to know exactly what the gist of their conversation was. The irritated expressions on the couple's face as they fled the shops without buying anything spoke volumes.

How did they even keep this place open? Did people really like Batman enough to brave a trip here more than once? Or were there actual days when Ed and Alan  _didn't_ play the super-freak Rambo twins act?

"Hey," Sam waved at Alan to grab his attention. Edgar was still busy staring after the couple, and Sam could only imagine he was trying to look brooding as they walked away.

"You're here," Alan greeted him, or as close to 'greeting' as either of the Frogs would get. Not really the best at small talk, these two. "We thought you weren't coming in until tomorrow."

Sam shrugged, "mom was going out anyway, so I hitched a ride with her." He eyed the pair of them. Their battle scars from the dog were readily apparent, now that the Frog brothers had all the blood washed off of them. Alan especially seemed to have gotten the worst of it, his face riddled with scratches. As for his hands, they were pretty heavily patched, like he'd decided he might as well use the whole bandaid package in one go. As for Edgar, well, he didn't look too bad. Then again, he hadn't been the one forced to barricade a broken window against a furry demon dog.

"You got the ads?" Edgar walked over to Sam, holding out his hand expectantly.

"What, no please?" Sam replied, digging into his coat to pull out the folder, "I've got it narrowed down to about five. All we have to do is draw more of them, maybe check if the library will let us post on their bulletin board, and we're in business."

Edgar took the folder, flipping through the drawings, "where's the one I drew?"

"Uh, Ed, I'm not sure it really fit what we were going for…" Sam trailed off.

"Whatta you mean?" Ed straightened up, closing the folder and glaring back at him.

"He's got a point," Alan admitted, "I mean, what do vampire hunters have to do with yetis in bikinis?"

"It was summer themed!" Edgar snapped back at his brother. "The point was that it grabs your attention, speaks to you."

"If you want the yeti, we'll use the yeti," Sam relented, a little exasperated. That had been the first one to go in the trash, honestly.

Between the three of them, they somehow managed to agree on three of the ads Sam put in the folder, two drawn by Alan, one by Sam. Then, apparently, they were going to use the stupid yeti one too. Maybe they'd stick it up by a snow cone stand or something. Sam couldn't believe how fast the day was flying by when he glanced down at his swatch watch. Already three.

Alan glanced over Sam's shoulder, scowling and then giving his brother a quick nod before they split up, leaving Sam with the folder and absolutely no clue what they were about to do. Probably on another mission to drive an innocent bystander away.

"Sam?"

His eyes snapped open wide, and Sam spun around to face his brother, alive, in one piece. "Holy shit, Mike! Where the hell have you been?"

"Hanging around," Michael admitted quietly, "how's mom?"

"You're a real ass-monkey, you know that?" Sam snapped back, "I- _we_ thought you'd broken your neck or something. Seriously, where the hell have you been?" He repeated it in an even higher pitch, as if he expected a better answer this time. Like Michael wasn't the older, usually more responsible of the two.

"I was hanging out and I fell asleep, that's all." Michael straightened up, just a little defensive, "not like I'm stupid enough to walk down a dark alley," he gave Sam's hair a bit of a ruffle, making Sam feel a little bit less irritated, "I did go home about an hour ago, by the way. Even left a note for mom, so calm down. I would've called."

Sam tucked his hands into his coat pockets, "she's going to be pretty upset when she sees you."

"Yeah," Michael agreed, "I know. Why do you think I came looking for you?"

"Oh, I get it, hide behind me cause you're too scared to face her alone?"

"I'm not-" Michael stopped talking abruptly, and that's when Sam noticed both of the Frog brothers peering over his shoulder like he'd suddenly grown a couple of extra heads.

* * *

Michael narrowed his eyes, "dude, both of you,  _back off_." He didn't know what their problem was, but from what he'd gathered when he walked in, they seemed to be Sam's friends. So they got one strike before he decked them.

There was something about the pair that rubbed him the wrong way, and they hadn't even said anything. They weren't intimidating. Michael could take them both in a fight, easy. It wasn't just the fact that their apparent knowledge of personal space needed some work, either. They made him feel a little  _uneasy_. Come to think of it, right now Sam was too. He chalked that up to his guilt, though, and shrugged it away.

"Sam, your friends are freaks," he stated flatly, once they'd finally given him some distance and instead exiled themselves to one of the back shelves. Still staring at him like he'd grown an extra arm or something. Maybe they were handicapped. Probably gave Sam discounts just to hang out with them.

"Ed and Alan?" Sam asked, as if he hadn't thought of it before, "they're alright. Just take some getting used to."

Michael rolled his eyes, "do you need a ride home?"

"Nah," Sam shook his head, "mom's picking me up soon. Wanna rip the bandaid off now and talk to her before she corners you at the house?"

He thought about that for a moment. Michael was old enough to know his mom couldn't really do anything to him if she was upset, but he really didn't like feeling like the bad guy. There was a pretty good chance she'd want him to stay home tonight, too, and that made Michael uneasy. He knew he'd go out again anyway, like he didn't even have a choice about it. He just  _was._

"I'm gonna go for a walk, see if there are any places hiring yet," Michael told him, not sure what else to say. Maybe there  _was_ a new job sign up somewhere. It couldn't hurt to put off going home for a couple more hours if he was doing something useful with his time. Plus, it'd give him a little more fresh air, maybe dissipate the smell of pot and old beer that was probably still clinging to his jacket.

"You sure?" Sam was getting upset all over again, "it's gonna be late soon."

"Your point?"

"V-" He cut himself off at a look from Michael. "I just want you to be safe!"

"Chill out, grandma," Michael slugged his little brother's shoulder, eliciting a yelp.

"Mike!"

"I'll be home tonight. Promise."

* * *

Summer was fucking incredible this year. They finally had their market cornered, a steady stream of regulars, and plenty of cash to last them until winter when all the joyriders dried up and went home. Worst case, they had a few girls always ready to turn some tricks for a few grams.

"I think I'm gonna treat myself," Gene said aloud, "get a new board." He'd been eyeing a nice one, but that tweaker from the pussy gang last week had stolen his cash before running off. If there was anything that ruined a Surf Nazi's night, it was those guys. Every time one of the gang tried to go after them, though, he ended up disappearing. They'd have to take the assholes on all at once, or corner one of them.

"Sounds good," Eric agreed, wiping at the traces of white under his nose and sniffing a little. They were chilling out on the beach together right now. A little nose candy, a few shots, there was no better way to finish up a day. Gene's trunks were still drying from his last swim, and it wouldn't be long before night hit like a ton of bricks. Santa Carla changed faces at night.

"I want to do something tonight," Gene decided aloud. He wasn't in charge. Their missing leader had gone off with his ball and chain last week, and they still had no god damned clue where. Probably an impromptu shag party. Whatever.

Anthony, the mohawk-sporting asshole bogarting all the nose candy, agreed. "Yeah, let's do something." Eric somehow managed to pry the little baggie away, spilling some in the sand.

"Shit!" Eric whined, trying to scoop up what he could.

"You're gonna sand-blast your nose if you try to snort that," Anthony advised him.

"Fuck if I care," Eric snapped back, trying to sift what he could through his fingers. He looked pretty stupid right now.

They bickered for a while, until Gene snatched the bag away to tuck safely into his wallet and shove into his drying swim trunks, "c'mon, let's go grab a burger." It was only three of them tonight. Everyone else was cruising Luna Bay for new customers. New hits.

So wouldn't you know it, right when they'd managed to get to their favorite greasy dive on the boardwalk, a little stall with no closing hours, they saw him.

"Hey, that the guy who kicked your ass?" Eric nudged Gene's shoulder, grabbing his attention.

Gene looked over at the leather-clad teen. He'd looked pretty clean cut the last time they met. Gene hid a smile, nodding. "Yeah, that's the one." Hard to miss. Maybe the guy didn't go out of his way to stand out, but it wasn't every day you saw those bikers picking up fresh meat to join them. Gene had seen them together a couple of times, regretted letting him go the last time they'd had a chance to get even without those assholes around to stop him.

"Hey, Tony," Gene glanced over at Anthony, holding out his hand, "pass me those knuckles, would ya?"


	6. Chapter 6

Lucy tried to be strong. She tried to push aside the worst, and make room to always have a smile for her boys when it seemed like there was no end to all the awful things life threw at her. The day she and John had told the boys about the divorce, Lucy had treated Michael and Sam to ice cream. You were never too old for a treat. The day her father had died, shortly before the move she'd been planning anyway, Lucy had promised the boys they would see a movie when everything settled.

What could she do, though, now, when Michael was slipping away? It was only a couple of days, but he'd  _never_ disappeared like this before. Even after she'd read his note, and Sam told her he was coming home, Lucy couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong. The later it got, the worse she felt. Her third cup of coffee wasn't helping to soothe her nerves as she waited on the porch, either, wrapped tightly in her knit blanket as summer heat gave way to chilly night.

"Mom," Sam called out from the screen door, and Lucy turned to squint at him with her false smile.

"Yes?"

"There's a phone call for you." He paused, "it's that freaky old lady."

She worried at her bottom lip, tugging at the knit blanket to dislodge herself from a self-made cocoon of yarn, "what did you tell her?"

"I said you were outside."

Lucy bit back a sigh. Then there was nothing for it. She couldn't tell him to pretend she was at work. Not that it was in her nature to lie, but from the little contact she'd had with Mrs. Johnson, Lucy knew even a phone call would be draining.

"Okay. I'll be there in a minute." She saw no signs of Michael, still. They'd have to have a very serious talk tonight, and Lucy didn't look forward to calling out of work tomorrow if he still didn't show.

By the time she'd prepared herself, and taken the phone from Sam, he looked absolutely miserable. It was no wonder, too, as Hattie was so loud even through the phone that Lucy had to hold the receiver a good three inches from her ear just to understand her.

"Hello, Mrs. Johnson."

"Honey, I know I told you to call me Hattie, so don't you be afraid of saying it."

"Hello, Hattie."

"Listen, sweetheart, I just wanted to call and check up on you three. I got a bad feeling this morning, and when I dropped my chicken bones, I just knew-"

"I'm sorry, what?" Lucy straightened up, shifting the receiver to her shoulder, "chicken bones?"

"Yes, just a hobby of mine. Gotta do  _something_ with all those extra parts, you understand?"

No. She didn't.

"Hattie, I'm a little busy," Lucy lied.

"All I wanted to say was you keep an eye on everything at home, you hear? Don't be shy now, either. I got a little taxidermy shop I'd just love for you to visit. Maybe I can teach you how to drop the bones, too. I got a few extra bags-"

" _Hattie,_ " Lucy repeated the old woman's name, clearing her throat, "now isn't the best time."

"Oh, I know. Still waiting for Michael to come home, aren't you? It's gonna be awhile, so I think maybe you'd best get a little sleep, honey."

Lucy gave her youngest a look, putting her hand over the speaker to muffle her voice, "Sam, did you tell her about Michael?"

"No," he replied, and she knew he wasn't lying. Maybe Hattie was spying on them. Dear god, that was all she needed. Her dead father's girlfriend snooping on her children.

"Good night, Hattie," Lucy stated firmly.

"Good night!" The old woman squawked back, hanging up before Lucy could even react.

* * *

David's amused smile he wore in sleep that day, bolstered by his little game with Michael, disappeared shortly before the sun. Something was wrong. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, because the temporary link he'd forged with the human was fading, but they didn't linger in the cave tonight. No words were exchanged. They could all feel it, just like David.

Grasping at their link, and letting the scent of Michael's blood he had come to know so well guide him, David combed through the crowds on the boardwalk. The rides. The concert. None of the boys were in a playful mood tonight, all focused on their leader's singular goal. It wasn't just the mental link that was fading now, David realized, once he'd managed to finally catch Michael's scent on the ocean air. Blood. Too much blood. Michael was dying.

It didn't take a genius to know who was probably responsible, either. Revenge would have to wait until another night, though, because they were running out of time.

Far from the glittering lights of the boardwalk, but close enough to still hear the screams of ecstasy as the concert wound up, they found him. A crumpled shape under the pier, leaning against his fallen bike, just beyond the reach of the incoming tide. Curling veins of pink and red threaded around him in the sand. Broken. One arm twisted at an odd angle.

Not a sight any of them was unfamiliar with, but even Dwayne was shaken by the burning rage roaring through David's mind. There was little finesse to it, as David tore viciously into his own wrist and dropped down beside Michael, gripping his hair to jerk his head to the side. The dying teen's breath rattled, shortened, and was cut off altogether once the bleeding wound was forced against his lips.

This wasn't how David wanted to do this. There was no skill involved. No clever trick. No Faustian jump into the abyss. It was just cold, brutal reality, and he had nothing to say. Not even when Michael's eyes opened, stared up at him, confused, and agonised. The balm of life seeped into the human's bones as he struggled to swallow it. Coughing, choking, and  _at last_ drinking.

Marko, Dwayne, and Paul faded into the background. Silently watching, feeling every raw thought burning through Michael's mind, just as David was. The same fears they'd heard thousands of times before, regrets, worries, crumbling under the raw force of a newborn hunger.

It had been so  _long_ since David shared this much of his blood, he had forgotten how good it could feel. Better than just feeding. Almost better than fucking. Made him wonder if Max got off on keeping them plied with his own blood all the time, and why he even forced it on the brat.

Once the flesh on his torn wrist had puckered, healed, David was reluctant to pull it away. Not just for the pleasure of it, but because he wasn't sure if he'd given  _enough._ Neither he, nor the boys, or anyone Max had ever turned was this close to death before. What would happen, he wondered? Would Michael live, or simply have one great high before giving up the ghost?

He stroked his gloved fingers through blood-crusted curls.

This attempt to kill Michael was a message for them all. Mice trying to strike the cat. Oh how David would love to catch them each tonight, one-by-one, cut off their tails and strip away their shit-eating grins. There were so many clever little tricks David knew to keep a man alive for  _days_  if he wanted.

"Hey," David whispered against Michael's ear, pressing himself close as he eased the newly-made halfling's twisted arm back into a more natural position, "how about we take you home, huh?"

* * *

If it was possible to be strung through an old laundry wringer and come out the other side alive, Michael had a pretty good idea what it felt like. Everything hurt. His whole body, top to bottom. Hell, even his  _teeth._  Clawing his way into consciousness made it all worse, but at least he was alive. Somehow.

Maybe everything had just been a bad dream, and he'd be in his own bed when he woke up. The unfamiliar touch of a coarse blanket brushing against his fingers as he sat up betrayed itself, though. That, and the sound of fire popping and hissing, while gentle whispers echoed around him. He reluctantly cracked his eyes open, taking in the world around him.

The whispering stopped almost immediately.

Then his memories of the night hit him hard, and if he wasn't in so much pain, Michael would have leapt out of bed and never turned back. Moth-eaten curtains protected the bed, but there was no mistaking the silhouettes of rusted furniture in the lobby, or the orange haze of light hovering around the oil barrels.

" _Awake?"_

 _David._ Ice water pouring over Michael's spine, because he sure as fuck hadn't heard that rasping voice out loud. It was brushing through his mind as if the word was his own thought. He held his breath.

"Guess that's a yes." A match striking. At first, Michael saw no one beyond the curtain of the bed, and then David was simply  _there,_ drawing a cigarette to his lips,  _watching_ him. Michael couldn't make out the finer details blonde's face in the darkness, but he didn't doubt David was smirking.

Michael looked down at his shirt, crusted with his own blood and still dampened in some spots. No sign of his jacket. "How long have I been out?" Probably best to start with the simple questions. The ones that didn't make him question his sanity.

"A few hours," David's fingers drew the curtain aside, and he peered down at Michael intently, his free hand grasping the cigarette now, "didn't think you were gonna wake up at all."

"Well," Michael floundered for something to say, "I guess I did."

David sat down on the edge of the bed, kicking up a booted heel and proffering his cigarette, "yeah, we are."

"What?"

"You were going to ask if we're vampires. We are."

"I wasn't going to-"

"Michael," David tapped his own temple as Michael finally took the cigarette from him with a shaking hand. Maybe from nerves. Maybe from the deep weariness he felt in every screaming muscle right now.

"What's that mean?" Michael asked him, slowly taking a pull. He wasn't much of a smoker, but anything to distract himself right now from the sudden gnawing pain in his gut was a godsend. Or something else.

"I know what's in your head. All your questions. Your thoughts. Everything." The way David said it, you'd think he was giving the weekly weather report. It was enough to make Michael's blood run cold, but somehow didn't. Despite logic, and common sense, and every fucking thought that  _should_ be running through Michael's mind right now, all he could think was-

_Thank god I'm not dead._

"Not yet," David admitted, "mostly. You're sort of half there. Think of it like a day pass right now. For a couple of hours, you're alive, and then sort of, well-" he seemed to stumble for the right word, "-not."

Michael must have made a face, because he hardly managed to utter a sound before David pressed on, "you got lucky, though. Could've been six feet under tomorrow morning if I wasn't there." He slapped a hand on Michael's shoulder, "but I like you. We take care of our own."

He had a hazy image of David staring down at him, a bloodied wrist pressed to his lips, and eyes like the fucking devil urging him to drink. The stuff of nightmares.

"Your own?" Michael asked, letting out a rough little laugh, and immediately regretting it as his ribs seemed to scream in protest.

"Take it easy," David advised, dropping his amused facade, "you've got a long way to go."

The vampire took his cigarette back, burnt down to the last dying ember, "you look like shit."

Michael didn't have the strength to tell him to fuck off, so he just settled himself back on mildewed pillows and drew in a couple of labored breaths, "I need to go home."

"Don't worry about it," David shrugged off his worries, and Michael resented the way those gloves fingers pressing at his head seemed to soothe the worst of the pain, "don't worry about it."

He resented how good David's hand felt on his head, and the way he wanted to press his face into the vampire's palm, seeking out all the comfort he could get. This was ten levels of fucked up.

"Not one of you," Michael mumbled, struggling to make that thought known as exhaustion clawed at him, dragging him under, "not a monster."

He didn't hear much after that. Laughter, maybe, but it was hard to tell.

* * *

Sam poked at his soggy wheaties, keeping his eyes trained on the little flakes dispersing into the room temperature milk. This would be one of those days back home in Phoenix where he'd have to turn on MTV to drown out the awkward silence or arguments with his parents. For now, though, Wheaties would have to do.

"I spoke to your brother," Lucy told him, scooping up her clutch purse from the kitchen table, "he got home when we were both sleeping last night." She shook her head, placing a hand to her temple, "said he had bike trouble. Listen, sweetie, I need you to just keep an eye on Michael today. I'm worried about him. He looks sick. Can you do that for me?"

Sam let out a deep breath, lowering his spoon. The mouthful of cereal he'd been preparing to eat for the last three minutes would have to wait just a little longer, "he say anything else?"

She shook her head, "no." Her voice was soft, and just a little hurt. Mike had screwed up big time. "He didn't. My work number is on the refrigerator. If you need anything, just call. There's some cough medicine in the cupboard by the sink," she paused, "give some to him if he wakes up before I get home, okay?"

Sam frowned, "you're coming back at like six, right?"

"Yes, but I already told you Michael doesn't look good. Honestly, Sam, it was like pulling teeth trying to get more than a sentence out of him this morning." She leaned over and kissed his forehead, "take care. If you invite your friends over, just make sure you aren't too loud."

He couldn't believe it. Just like that, man of the house while Mike was upstairs probably recovering from a stupid hangover. Sam bit back his intense desire to give a shout of victory. Probably wouldn't make mom feel any better.

By the time Lucy was gone, Sam had hopped on the phone and immediately punched in the Frog brothers' number. They were supposed to start doing 'field work' this week, whatever the hell that meant. Probably swiping crucifixes from the Catholic church for weapons, or jamming stakes in all the graves at a cemetery somewhere. They wouldn't tell him anything.

No answer. Figured. They were probably at the comic shop, and he had no way to get there. Sam made a mental note to get that phone number too, just in case an emergency happened. Like bloodsuckers in his house or something.

Sam reluctantly went back to his breakfast and finished what he could. Would've been better off with toast this morning.

So, what were his choices? Studying the extra comics Edgar and Alan forced on him? Brainstorming attack plans? Carving stakes?

Nah. He'd rather just bug Mike. Teach him not to act like a jerk and disappear two nights in a row for no reason. Maybe if he gave his brother a hard time, he could keep him safe. The way Sam saw it, he was doing something truly noble when he filled a frying pan with cold water and tiptoed upstairs. Okay, not really noble, but it wasn't like this wouldn't be the best freaking prank ever.

By the time he'd finally made it upstairs into his brother's darkened bedroom, Sam already had an escape plan just in case his brother was ready for his attack. Dodge, twist, maybe be ready to jump on the bed if he had to.

Nanook was reclining in the hall, peering after Sam hopelessly, and letting out a soft whine.

"Shhh!" Sam looked back at his dog, "quiet, Nanook!"

The husky huffed and gave a squeaky bark, before settling down again. Alright, Mike was still sleeping. Cool.

Sam crept closer to the bed, peering down at his brother with a wicked grin. He stopped short, leaning over to turn on the bedside lamp. Mom wasn't kidding. He looked  _bad._ Like, really bad. He was pale. Under the lamplight, it was worse. Sam knelt to the ground to put the pan on the carpet without spilling it.

"Mike?" He nudged his brother's shoulder, going from devilish plotting to outright fear. He wasn't moving.

"Hey! Wake up!" Sam shook him harder, gripping Michael's shoulder with both hands this time.

Michael groaned, batting at Sam's hands and trying to shove him off, "go away, Sam."

"Shit, I thought you were dead!" Sam exclaimed, infinitely relieved.

"Mmmh." Michael turned his head into his pillow, mumbling something against it, and Sam couldn't tell what he said, but it probably wasn't nice.

"Do you want some soup?" Sam asked dumbly, not wanting to leave the room without  _some_ sort of offer to help his brother. An answer wasn't forthcoming, and oddly enough it seemed like Michael had already fallen back asleep.

"No?" He prompted, "extra blanket?" Still nothing. Sam took a deep breath and let it out, eyeing Michael's hand curiously. Weird, wasn't that the one he cut? "Christ, Mike, when's the last time you trimmed your nails?" A few more inches and he'd think his brother was turning into Freddy Krueger.

Eventually Sam  _did_ finally give up, taking the pan with him and heading out to the hall.

Nanook gave him a funny look, or at least that's how Sam decided to interpret it, "hey, wanna help me browse through the yellow pages, boy?" That comic shop number  _had_ to be listed somewhere.

* * *

"Alan!" Ed shouted from across the store, "get the phone!"

Alan glared over at his brother, half-wishing the price gun in his hand was loaded with beebees or paintballs, remind the only  _slightly_ older Frog that he wasn't the quiet Renfield lurking in the background like Ed seemed to think. He let the phone ring a good three or four more times before he finally rushed to catch it. For all they knew, there could actually be a customer on the line. It'd be nice to  _sell_ a few comics this afternoon. Their advertising tactics lately had sort of begun to put them in the red, and the 'rents were starting to actually notice. Yesterday, their mom had even been sober enough to make a comment in passing. Somehow she thought they should change their business model over to ear cones and patchouli.

"Frog Comics and Monster Bashers Inc, how can I help you?"

"Dude. That's what you're calling it now?"

Alan frowned, "why're you calling the store phone? It's dangerous. The place could be tapped."

"You  _just_ called yourselves 'Monster Bashers'." There was a long silence on the other end, "why would vampires tap a phone line? In the middle of the day?"

"Servants. Henchman at the police station. I dunno," Alan got a little defensive, not too keen on having holes poked in his flimsy theories.

"I really don't think the police around here can tap-listen, I just wanted to see if you guys could come over tonight. Today. Whenever. We can talk about that fieldwork stuff Ed was going on about."

Alan leaned against the counter, propping the phone against an elbow while he watched his brother try to entice new customers into the building. It wasn't a bad idea. They'd probably even be able to get some snacks out of it if they swung by.

"Alright," Alan agreed, "sounds good. We got a bunch of driftwood we need to carve, too, so I'll bring a bag by. Teach you how to make a stake."

"Theres-" Sam hesitated, "-is there something special about it I can't figure out on my own?"

"Yeah," Alan lied, "if you don't carve it right, it doesn't work. Gotta shape it like a cross at the point."

"None of the comics said-"

"The comics don't know everything, trust me," Alan interrupted, affecting his most cryptic tone. Sam didn't need to know they were both just happy to have a new sidekick to do that work for them. Alan's palms were a road map of splinters past.

"Okay, just don't make a lotta noise when you come over. Mike's got some kinda bug and I don't wanna wake him."

"It's three in the afternoon."

"Yeah, well, sick people sleep a lot."

Alan waited until he'd hung up to voice his concerns to his brother. "Hey, Ed," he called out from the counter, "keep your gear on you tonight. We might need it." Not that either of the Frog brothers ever went without.

* * *

He couldn't just spend the whole day in bed. Michael knew that. He also couldn't just bury his head in his pillows and pretend last night  _didn't happen._ The details were fuzzy, tempered by the fact that he'd been semi-conscious most of the time, but he remembered with startling clarity being cornered by that burger shack, having the shit kicked out of him, and getting dumped with his bike under the pier. He remembered the taunts as the fuckers took his wallet and jacket. The taste of his own blood in his mouth, and the feeling of dying. He'd been dying.

In the midst of hazy prayers, something awful and wonderful had happened. Michael didn't want to remember it, rolling over in his bed and trying to block out the world with an extra pillow. Closing his eyes couldn't cover his thoughts, though, nor could it muffle the memory of the blurry vision he recalled. His brother's wild imagination come to life with stark, cold reality. David.

 _David._ Feeding him hot blood from cold flesh. Forcing Michael not to die by sheer will. Michael's stomach turned at the memory. He didn't know whether the disgust or desire for more was stronger. None of this made any fucking sense.

It didn't escape his notice, either, that his shirt  _wasn't_ crusted with blood. So he'd either changed it in the middle of the night without remembering it, or someone had changed it for him. If he wasn't a little more concerned about the fact that he'd been inducted into a bloodsucking gang of freaks, it would probably be at the top of his priority list. At least he didn't have to explain the other shirt to his mom, so maybe it was for the best.

Michael shoved the pillows away and  _very_ reluctantly sat up, scowling into the semi-darkness of his room. It was still day. Barely. A little voice inside was needling at him to lay back down and rest, but he ignored it. He was starving.

Even with his lights off, the sun peeking through his shades was still just way too much for him to handle. His senses were waking up and going on overdrive, so he compromised with himself by clumsily reaching for his sunglasses on his bedside stand to shove them onto his face. Stupid jokes from Sam or not, Michael had to get out of his bedroom, and this was the only way he saw himself being able to manage.

His brother was in the kitchen pouring over comics with his friends, the angry smelly guys from that comic book store. Michael drew to a halt in the doorway, crossing his arms and sizing them up. He didn't think it was possible, but somehow without even exchanging a word he liked them even  _less_ than he had the first time.

"So shit-suckers like cold, dark places. Walk-in freezers. Castles. Basements. Crypts. You name it, any place you can fit a coffin. I was thinking we could explore some Chinese joints tomorrow, check if they've got more than take-out noodles in the back," Sam's friend with the serious case of laryngitis enthused, tapping on a two-page spread of one comic with an army of bats jettisoning out of a graveyard.

Sam groaned, rubbing at his temple, "Ed, I don't want to get chased out of China Garden with a meat cleaver."

"Don't worry, you've just gotta be the distraction," the other Frog brother told him, as if that would solve everything.

"Ever heard of social lives? You should try one out sometime," Michael interjected, striding towards the refrigerator and digging through it. There had to be  _something_ in there worth eating, Leftover spaghetti. Overcooked bacon in plastic wrap. Lunchmeat. He grazed on bits and pieces, but everything just seemed to taste like ash when it hit his tongue.

They weren't talking anymore, now that he'd made himself known. In fact, once Michael grabbed the milk carton and closed the fridge door, he realized all eyes were trained on him. Even Sam, though he looked a little bit happier than the other two.

"What?" Michael peeled open the top of the carton and took a gulp. God, it was like he could  _taste_ the fact that it only had a week left before going sour. Milk was not a good idea.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked, scooping up several comics and closing them like he had a dirty secret to hide. As if he hadn't been going nuts about vampires the other day. Hard to really say whether Michael regretted ignoring him or not. On the one hand, he was still alive  _because_ of those bloodsucking nutjobs. On the other, well, they  _killed_ people. He just didn't want to think about it.

"Peachy," Michael sneered, putting the milk back in the fridge. He wasn't in a good mood. He didn't want to act like a jerk, but that was just how the word came out. Irritated and dismissive.

"What a dick-head," the Frog brother with the shorter hair whispered into the other's ear, leaning across the table. Michael could hear him clear as day, and glared at them both in turn.

"Are you still obsessed with those stupid vampire stories?" Michael demanded, deciding to take the defensive. He didn't really  _like_ the idea of Sam doing stupid shit, whether he ended up running into real monsters like David and the boys or not. Jesus Christ, they were talking about being chased with meat cleavers and sneaking into restaurant kitchens.

"They're real," the Frog brother with the long hair insisted.

"It's true!" Sam finally blurted out, loud enough to wake Nanook under the kitchen table, "Mike, I saw some, and we staked a couple, and there was like fire, and a shit-sucking crazy dog, and like a dork king mega-vamp-"

"Sam. Stop." Michael held up a hand, "I'm going back to bed, and maybe you three should chill it on the acid trips, huh?" He stalked out of the kitchen, yanking off his sunglasses as he headed upstairs. Sam wasn't going to give up this stuff very easily, that much was obvious. He didn't know what the hell his little brother meant with that disjointed story he'd tried to tell, but none of it sounded good. He'd have to come up with a plan to keep Sam from having his throat torn out, but at the moment Michael had no clue where to even begin. If he couldn't even save himself, how could he save his little brother?

It would be night before mom got home tonight, so that just left Michael and Sam home with the Frog brothers downstairs. For the first time, Michael didn't have a desperate need clawing at him to go to the boardwalk. What he  _should_ do was pull out some of those boxes he'd packed in the garage and see if he could board up their windows, or tie some of those antlers into makeshift crosses just in case. Keep David away long enough to get his thoughts together and figure out a plan. It was obvious they knew where he lived, after all. Michael sure as hell hadn't gotten home on his own last night.

* * *

The boys decided to make themselves scarce tonight. Let the surfing rats think they'd won and scared the Lost Boys away for good. It would be so much better that way.

They lurked in shadows, and when one or two people cared to notice them, they sent out mental tricks to scare them away. It was a game they often played just to stir up fear. Marko's favorite. Sometimes he liked to hide on the ferris wheel waiting for kids to join him, just to make them think the swinging metal cart was a fire-breathing monster closing sharp teeth over them as it took off into the air. Sometimes he simply liked to dig into people's minds and for short instances, make them think he was the living, rotted corpse of a long dead relative. He was the smallest, and when he was human he had died the youngest, but Marko could easily be described as the most devious when it came to dark games.

"Guess he's not showing," Marko remarked, shoving a chunk of stolen cotton candy in his mouth and spitting it out, just to do it again and again until bits of spun sugar floated about.

Paul's eyes danced with mirth when he watched two girls turn in unison as a phantom hand pinched their rears in unison, "should we play fetch, then? Drag Mikey out?" He was too distracted with his own fun to note how furiously David was stubbing out his cigarette against his glove.

Dwayne rolled his eyes at Paul's little trick, preferring the more mundane game of keeping a mirror on his shoe to watch other women pass by in dangerously unprotected skirts. "I don't think he's going to make it easy."

David's lip curled up at the corner, "neither am I."

Max was gone. They couldn't afford to waste time now. The Surf Nazis were nothing but a future meal, no threat at all. There were other vampires in Santa Carla, however, on the fringe. Like cockroaches, they would skitter away when Max noticed them, only feeding on the dregs the boys wouldn't even touch. Without him, the cockroaches would come out. Hunting would be even worse now than when Star went on her all-you-can-eat binge on the beach. David couldn't afford to show weakness, and right now that was exactly what a disobedient halfling was. It wouldn't matter if he'd been Max's creature, but then again, the death of the head vampire would have cured him in that case.

"Dwayne," David directed, "send a message tonight. Take Marko with you. I smelled a rat earlier. Take care of it."

Dwayne nodded, giving David a two-fingered salute before grabbing the back of Marko's jacket and dragging him off.

"Oh, come on!" Marko protested, "I was having fun."

"I'll let you take the first shot, alright?" Dwayne conceded, keeping his grip firmly on Marko as they disappeared into the crowd.

Paul grinned at David, shoving a stick of gum in his mouth and chewing rapidly, "so," he said between the rhythmic smack of his lips and teeth, "we going on a date?"

"Shut up, Paul."

It wasn't difficult to fly to the Emerson house. Windy night. They'd fed well after David fed Michael his blood. Once they'd reached the place, though, David and Paul were immediately on edge as they settled to the ground. There was an all-too-familiar scent in the air. They'd smelled it before, right after Max had been killed. Before their party at the cave, they'd had a much smaller one at his place and torched the fucker. Watched it light up, and danced around the burning grave.

"Hunters," David sighed, "figures." Right here. With Michael.  _How?_

Paul darted over the shadowed lawn, pressing himself up against the wall of the house and edging towards a window to peer through the shades.

" _Paul,_ " David hissed in his mind, " _don't get your ass staked. Just keep an eye out._ "

" _Wouldn't dream of it,"_ Paul promised, " _I'm not_ _that_   _kinky."_

Somehow David doubted it, but he wasn't here tonight to discuss Paul's fetishes.

It was a shame they hadn't brought their bikes tonight. Perhaps if Max was still around, they could've all come here, used the lights and engines to draw him out. David would have to settle for a nice little chat and see where it went from there.

He drew a cigarette out from his pack and struck a match to light it, glaring towards the house and stretching out his mind in search of his fledgling's, grabbing onto it. " _Michael,_ " he mouthed the words before drawing in a mouthful of rich, satisfying smoke. He could already hear the halfling's heartbeat speeding up. Oh yes, he could hear David just fine.

" _C'mon. We'll grab a drink. You'll like it._ "

Met with nothing but silence, he savored the rush of nicotine, which didn't last quite as long as he'd like, and watched the thin, white rings curl into the night sky. " _Who's downstairs, Michael? Your little brother? Others? Mmmmh, I bet they'd taste incredible. You haven't lived until you've tasted fresh adrenaline, cut the skin just right so it's pumping straight out, let the heart do all the real work for you."_

" _Go away!"_  Michael snapped in his mind, instinct teaching him already how to talk.

David grinned, " _did I hit a nerve? What's wrong with you, huh? We saved your life. The least you could do is come out and play."_

" _Don't touch my family,"_ Michael warned, and it was so delicious to hear the empty warning. Oh yes, the halfling definitely had a killer in him. David knew he wouldn't be disappointed.

" _Alright, alright. For you? I can do that. You're going to have to be a little nicer, though. We're pack, and that's a pretty big deal. You've got two families now, Michael, and sooner or later you're going to want to eat."_

" _I already ate."_

David couldn't help but laugh, covering his mouth with a gloved hand to muffle the sound. He didn't want to get anyone else's attention right now. Not hunters. Not Michael's little brother. Definitely not the dog he could smell scratching at the front door.

" _Paul, get your ass over here."_  David ordered, when the dog began to whine and howl.

"Nanook, stop it! I'll take you outside in a minute!" A human shouted. Michael could hear him too.

" _Don't touch him,"_ this time, Michael's voice was a little more pleading. The tough guy act was cracking just enough for David to know he had the upper hand.

" _So, what did you eat, huh? A sandwich? Drink a glass of orange juice, straight from the can? Nice little cozy human life you've got here, Michael. Really, it is. Here's the thing, though: you aren't human anymore. Maybe a part of you is, but it's dying. Each little ticking second, each minute you try to hide from us, that heart you've got beating in your chest is getting weaker and weaker. Maybe it'd be different if you'd taken the fucking flask when I'd offered, but you didn't. I fed you when you' were already half-dead. My blood works miracles, but it can't turn back the clock. I can feel your fear. I can smell it. No one is ever ready to die, but that's what humans do. They die. Take your little brother for example, squawking his head off in the house. Even if we leave him alone, he could die tomorrow, or he could die in fifty years. The point is that he_ _will._   _I know you're going to feed, because eventually your body is going to make the choice for you if you don't. You're like us, Michael. You'll never grow old, and you'll never die,"_ David took another pull from his cigarette just as Paul hopped away from the window and skittered up the wall to freeze in the shadows beneath the porch roof, just as the front door swung open and the husky came tearing outside with a skinny human desperately clutching at his leash.

"Nanook!" The human shouted, trying to restrain him. Paul took the opportunity to hop onto the roof, well away from view, and David rose into the sky to hide in the shade of a tree.

" _Michael,"_ David pressed on, glaring down at the human, watching his dog sniff around the trunk of the tree, " _I'm losing my patience. Come outside. Now."_

The older Emerson's blood was racing now, his heart laboring as a window shade on the second floor flew up, and the glass pane slid upwards. David grinned through the shade of the tree, meeting Michael's angry glare in the darkness. Yellow met yellow. Michael's fierce desire to protect his brother warred with his need for blood. David was thrilled at the sight.

" _There we go. Looks tasty, doesn't he?"_

" _Fuck off."_

Paul crawled over the roof, swift, snake-like, until he was dangling directly over Michael's window, grinning down at him. The halfling was far too focused on David and his human brother below to care. It wouldn't take much to push him over the edge, and it almost seemed like the perfect way to teach him a lesson about defiance, but that wasn't quite how David wanted this. He wasn't Max. He had  _some_ tact.

Eventually, the human managed to drag his dog back inside, slamming the door shut.

" _See? I'm not a bad guy,"_ David continued where they left off. " _Now, I'll ask you one more time. Nicely. Come out."_

Michael hesitated, and David's patience ran out. He flicked his cigarette into the air and nodded to Paul. The wind around them began to pick up, stirring the branches in David's tree until it was violent enough to make the leaves rattle. He rose into the air singularly with Paul. David spread his arms wide in welcoming, Christ-like. A dark, unholy figure in the night waiting to welcome his wayward childe.

"What the hell?!" Michael yelped out loud, as his feet rose into the air, and he found that his hands gripping the windowsill were his only brace now to the house. David and Paul used the call of their blood and pack to pull at him, stirring up the wind so horribly, that a branch in the tree David had roosted in cracked and fell to the ground.

Michael's hands slipped, and he tried to grab at everything he could to keep himself from flying out of the window. A telephone, a lamp, even the windowshade. But, like it or not, he was soon hurtling towards them and straight into David's arms.

"There," David whispered against Michael's ear, putting a gloved hand on his chin and forcing the brunette to meet his gaze, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

The ferocious glare he received in response was not at all unexpected. It was so tempting to bite his neck then and there, give Michael another reason to glare at him, but he'd wait. Despite the way his fangs ached to cut and claim, David would wait.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little adult in this chapter. Okay, more than a little adult. There's sexy stuff. I'm sure you can probably figure out where it begins and ends.

'They met on the beach, far from prying eyes, all five of them. Ragged sneakers meeting sand, Michael couldn't help but feel a distinct sense of deja vu. He recognized this place. The pier. The distinctly eerie lights of the boardwalk at a distance melting in yellow streaks across blackened coastal water. Struggling had been pointless. With every brush of wind guided by Paul and David, he'd sailed alongside them through the sky. Exhilarated, angry, and almost terrified all at the same time. It was like he was fighting through a bad trip, as far as he could tell, and the high showed no signs of stopping any time soon.

Still, Sam was safe. They hadn't tried to hurt him, once they'd left the house. So in a way it was good that they were so far away, and David couldn't change his mind about feeding on his little brother after all.

"Hey," David clapped a hand on Michael's back, guiding him along the shore just shy of the surging tide while the rest of the boys walked alongside them. "I don't want to fight you, Michael. None of us do. Here's the thing, we don't always invite new members into the club. Fuck, we'd have way too many mouths to feed if we did. Santa Carla's a delicate ecosystem, y'know?"

Michael bit back an odd desire to growl, like some sort of animal, and very slowly made his thoughts known, "then you should have taken applications. I'm not a psychopath, asshole."

"Cool it," David warned, suddenly not sounding quite as cheerful as he had before, as he reached up with his free hand to give him a condescending pat on the cheek, "none of us were psychos. It takes a special kind of person not to fuck up this lifestyle. Just the right balance, ya see. Most people don't take the turn too easy. They snap," he jerked a thumb over at Paul, "this one barely made it. Would you believe he used to be a choir boy?"

"Suck it," Paul snapped back, then seemed to think better of it after a look from David, quickly adding afterwards, "I mean, y'know, only if you want to."

Marko snickered "Nice one, Paulie. Real smooth."

"The point is this: you passed the test. You're one of us, like it or not, and believe me-" David paused, drawing his arm away from Michael's shoulder as they all came to a stop, "-you're going to love what comes next. Don't worry about it, after tonight you'll  _thank_ us for this, Michael."

"What do you-" he was cut off, when David pressed a finger to Michael's lips, and pointed ahead. They'd come to a hill of sand littered with patches of dead grass overlooking what could only be described as a drunken orgy without the sex part. Punks dancing around a bonfire passing cans of cheap beer, headbanging and hollering out the lyrics of staticy music. Some, he recognized, most he didn't. The one that stood out, though, was the same bald asshole who'd tried to kill him, making out with the only chick there, sporting a leather jacket Michael remembered all too well.

"Great timing," Dwayne whispered, affecting a thin-lipped half-smirk as he surveyed the group.

"These shit-heads have a party every week," Marko explained, looking over at Michael, "we had a feeling they'd throw one tonight."

"Watch and learn," David whispered into Michael's ear, "we'll save you a bite."

"Don't bother," Michael ground out under his breath, "you won't need to." He couldn't kill. He wouldn't. Even if his blood was running hot right now, burning, scalding his skin. Even if they were right, and he was just living on borrowed time right now until he lost control. He'd figure a way out of this, cure himself,  _something!_

Then, the masks the boys wore disappeared, and melted into their monstrous shapes. Dripping fangs, sharp bone and ridges, eyes bright enough to burn. They took flight, laughing wildly as they launched themselves at the dancing and drunken punks. Tearing throats, shredding clothes, scalping and mutilating them all with nothing but claws and teeth.

Michael sank to his knees, horrified, and excited at the same time. He wanted to bite down the raging hunger, letting his fear of these monsters he'd befriended take center stage. So much blood. He could taste iron on the air. Iron and salt. His nostrils flared as he drew a hand across his mouth, struggled not to bite through his own lips as he felt the monster inside being born.

Couldn't join them. Couldn't kill. Had to. Had to fight it. He screamed at the carnage, pressing his hands into his hair and yanking at it to use the pain as an anchor to his humanity. Then all he could hear was the fire and the waves. The laughter had died. The screams soaked into the sand with a canvas of blood and mangled bodies.

Then he heard his name, whispered, echoing from above, where all four of the boys floated together covered in their meals. They looked human again, and somehow that was even more frightening than their real faces. There was another person up there, though. David had him pressed against his chest, arms restrained behind his back with ease. The bald one wearing Michael's jacket, too scared to even cry out.

David suddenly released his hold on the human, letting him fall to the ground with a loud ' _ **thump!**_ '

Michael stared up at the leader, panting and gripping at his stomach as pain began to furiously gnaw a hole in it. David didn't say anything, he only mouthed the words 'do what you want.'

The human lay on the ground, dazed, the wind knocked out of him. He didn't look like he'd be able to stand up for quite some time. If the trauma hadn't done enough, the fall certainly hadn't helped. Michael stared at him, reminded himself what exactly would happen if he gave in to the monster.

If he'd never met this guy, maybe he would've had a better chance. Maybe Michael could have made himself turn away. Hell, if he hadn't worn that  _fucking jacket_ tonight, it would've been better, but he had. The taste of his own blood on his lips, the pain ripping through him as he'd been beat and kicked until he felt his ribs cracking, the memory of having his hand cut open when the guy had tried to hurt his little brother. The fucker could've killed  _Sam!_

That last thought was what finally threw him over the edge, just as the human finally managed to scramble to his knees to try to get away. Michael snarled, beastial, out-of-control as he leapt at the man, yanking the jacket off so he didn't stain it, and using deadly fangs to rip out his throat. It was messy. It was quick. It was fucking heaven.

* * *

"You okay, boy?" Sam gripped both sides of his dog's head, giving the husky a few comforting strokes. Nanook had been acting a little funny all day, but he'd acted even worse when they went outside. Maybe it was just having the Frog brothers over, but that didn't really make much sense. Nanook never had issues with guests, no matter how weird they were.

Alan scratched idly at the tab of his coke can, squinting at the kitchen window, "thought someone was out there for a second," he cracked the tab, "Sam, your dog is freaking me out."

"No kidding," Sam mumbled, standing up and dusting some of shedding strands of fur off of his fingers. "He isn't norm-"

Sam stopped short when he heard a loud thumping sound upstairs, and all three of them immediately dashed from the kitchen, followed closely by the husky. Sam's first thought was that his brother had broken something, but when they got into his brother's room, he saw no sign of Michael.

Edgar flipped on the bedroom light, "where's the jock?"

"I don't know," Sam replied helplessly, looking over at the open bedroom window, and the cord hanging over the sill. He frowned, going over to inspect it, the distant sound of a dial echoing outside as Michael's bedroom phone swayed in the air against the wall. Sam reached for the chord to tug the phone up, glancing around. Michael's bedroom lamp was on the ground, the bulb broken. His window shades had been trashed.

"Oh god," Sam set the phone down, pressing his hands to his face and breathing harshly through his splayed fingers. What the hell had happened, and where was his brother? What was he going to tell mom?!

* * *

Everything was sort of numb. In a good way. Picking his way through the hotel tonight, Michael had a new appreciation for the darkness, once they'd left the human comfort of the burning oil barrels. He could hear water trickling down heavily mildewed walls, while rock seemed to constantly shift and settle about them. Wind pressing through hollowed crevices. Even, distantly, the crackling fires in the lobby.

"Feeling good, Mikey?" Paul slapped his back, sidling up beside him while David led the way with Dwayne and Marko trailed behind them tending to a pigeon nested in his hands.

He was tempted to lie. Hadn't asked for this. Hadn't wanted it. He couldn't really summon the words, though, and so Michael just shrugged, "yeah," he admitted with a tired smile. Honestly, after he'd dropped that asshole's corpse in the sand, and risen to join his packmates - because now he  _knew_ that's what they were - Michael hadn't felt anything  _but_ good. No regret. No pain. His first kill, and the high of the meal burnt through him, scorching his humanity into ashes that floated away with the brush of the coastal wind against his blood-soaked face.

"It gets even better," Marko called out, throwing his bird into the air to watch it beat a hasty retreat back into the light of the hotel lobby.

They found themselves at the base of a large pit, and as far up as Michael could see there was nothing but rock, rotting wood, and decaying bits of furniture or cloth embedded into the walls as if they were put there on purpose. Like Alice's tunnel, leading away from Wonderland, or maybe back to it.

It struck Michael that he was simply following blindly, yet in the dark now he could see more than ever. Every crack in the wall. Every shallow dip or space on the ground he might otherwise have tripped over and fallen into. His feet felt light now, though, and it was simply natural to let the wind carry him when they met places no human could easily walk over. Now, at the base of this pit, he finally decided to ask, "where are we going?"

In response, Dwayne rose into the air, followed by Marko, and then Paul, which left David and Michael to stare up at them.

" _You gotta learn to use your inside voice,_ " David whispered in Michael's mind, tapping a gloved finger to his own lips. " _Not as safe here as the rest of the place._ " As if to illustrate the blonde's point, several streams of dust floated to the ground from above.

He could hear soft laughter echoing in his thoughts. Hard to disseminate one voice from another, Michael wondered if he'd ever get used to that. Just a few hours ago he'd been intent on barricading himself in his house with crosses and stakes, and now he was back here losing himself to a world he never knew existed.

" _Where are we going?"_ Michael urged, this time resorting to their silent communication.

" _Gotta pick a new room. Not enough space in the old one, and it's too easy to get to, anyway. You found it pretty easy last night, after all._ "

Michael was getting more confused by the second, " _room for what?"_

" _Sleeping. Sorta had bad timing when I picked you, Michael, Santa Carla's not as safe as it used to be._ "

" _It's the murder capital of the world, how can it get any worse?"_ Michael paused, not really wanting to say it, but knowing he had to, " _I can't sleep here. I have to go home._ "

Just like that, the mood seemed to shift from one of excitement to something altogether different. Dangerous. He had a feeling he was going to have to choose his words carefully, judging by the dark look on David's face. The fucker could look pretty scary, even when he wasn't sporting fangs and freaky eyes.

" _This is home,"_ David told him, taking flight to join the others above. Michael stared after them as they disappeared through a large gap in the wall. For a moment, he got a weird feeling of discomfort. Like he was suddenly all alone in the world. The noises of settling earth and skittering bugs near his feet may be loud, but the  _silence_ in his mind now was deafening.

Was this what it would feel like if he went back to his family? This emptiness? Deep down, he knew he'd go crazy. Couldn't stand it. There was no turning back now. No running. No hiding. The second he realized that, the emptiness disappeared altogether.

" _C'mon, Michael. Join the club,_ " David called to him, and without a second thought, he rose into the darkness of the pit, following his brothers. Maybe that crazy old lady hadn't been so crazy after all.

* * *

The house was completely still this afternoon. It was the first weekend since the school year had started, and Sam had decided to spend the day with his friends. She couldn't blame him.

The night she got home after michael had disappeared, Lucy stayed up until dawn, worried, fretting. Just before the morning sun rose, though, she heard Michael's bike. When she'd rushed outside to find him, knuckles white with the effort of keeping her shawl wrapped tightly in the early morning wind, there was nothing. No sign of him.

She'd shouted his name, voice breaking with the early sun. Then she'd noticed the flag on the mailbox was raised, and found a letter. She'd get one every month, and could barely summon the strength to open this third one. Every time she read his words, her heart broke all over again. Michael wasn't coming home, and she didn't understand  _why he'd left._

* * *

"I'm telling you guys, this old lady has been watching us. Whenever I have to walk Nanook at night, I get a weird feeling, and I just  _know_ it's her. Mom actually caught her planting stuff in our front yard the other day." Sam reached for a slice of garlic-slathered pizza as he poured over a shaded-out map with the Frog brothers, coloring the spots they'd explored and planned to investigate in the near future, homework permitting.

"Then call the cops," Alan replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, I mean, mom thinks she's just lonely and told me not too," Sam protested, "besides, what would the cops around here do? To an old lady?"

Edgar slammed back half of a coke, gasping and cringing at the taste, "Alan, I don't think we need to spike our  _drinks_ with garlic, too."

"Hey, fight death breath with death breath. Could save your life one day," Alan snapped back.

"Then why am I the only one drinking it?" Edgar grumbled back, drinking more of his coke while he scanned the map.

Sam couldn't hold back a breathy little laugh and snort, "your turn to be guinea pig." If Alan had to make daily trips to the local churches to gather holy water, and Sam had to deal with splinters on a daily basis to build up their stockpile of hand-carved stakes, the least Edgar could do was drink and eat all the gross stuff. It was honestly hard to decide whether this was really for Ed's safety, or just because it was hilarious to jam cloves of garlic in his twinkies when he wasn't looking. Edgar Frog may have been the de facto leader of their group, but he wasn't really the brains.

"Okay, so you've got a geriatric stalker," Alan attempted to return to the topic at hand, "but what does that have to do with vampires?"

"Nothing, really, it's just freaking me out," Sam admitted, "and, I mean, she could be like, I dunno, a witch…" he trailed off sheepishly. If they could somehow involve getting rid of Mrs. Johnson, at least he'd have less to worry about. It'd be easier to track down his brother if he wasn't constantly looking over his shoulder just in case there was a madwoman in a chiffon caftan hiding behind one of their rose bushes.

"Have you seen her during the day? Maybe she's out for revenge," Edgar suggested, not at all jokingly. He was deadly serious when it came to anything about vampires. Or Stallone.

Sam looked at him, "uh, yeah. I told you that before. She's not a vampire, Ed."

"We haven't tested the sunblock theory, though," Edgar pressed on, "it might work."

"If they explode under sunlight, or burst into flame, I really doubt lotion's going to do the trick," Alan piped up, "unless we actually find one and figure out a way to keep it locked up, we're not going to get the chance to test that either."

Now  _there_ was an interesting idea. If Sam thought they could actually do it without getting their throats ripped out, they really could learn a lot about bloodsuckers if they had one to test hunting tactics on. Maybe it wasn't just garlic that worked on them. What about onions? Scallions? Onions would be a hell of a lot easier to peel and stock up on. It was sort of dangerous to think about. They were monsters, sure, and Sam would be happy to wipe off every last vampire on the planet, but torture? That was a little more than he thought he could handle. A staking lasted a second, maybe more if you didn't get a running start, and a lot of those things still looked like actual people half the time. He frowned, staring at his half-eaten pizza slice.

Edgar grimaced after finally tossing back the dregs of his coke and slamming the can on the table, "part timer is working tomorrow. I think it's time we finally do a really good perimeter check. I heard there were some missing kids in the sticks. There's gotta be at least a dozen prime vampire dens out there-"

"-how are we going to get to them?" Sam interrupted, knowing very well that riding on Ed's spare rusted-out bike wasn't going to get him very far.

"We'll borrow dad's car. Tomorrow's margarita night," Alan explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "he won't notice."

"Uh, yeah. Of course we're doing that," Edgar agreed, clearly surprised at the suggestion.

Sam just wished he could find his grandpa's key to that old car in the garage. Man, that would be one cool ride. Bloodsuckers wouldn't stand a chance. Maybe he'd do one last scan of the garage. Most of the stuff had been thrown away or pawned at that point, but it couldn't hurt. Maybe there was a drawer he'd missed. He was sure his dead grandpa wouldn't mind. It was for a good cause, after all.

* * *

The best time of night always seemed to strike when the glowing lights of the boardwalk flipped off, one-by-one. The people who didn't rush home, ants to their safe little hills, were the ones who lingered blindly. Closing stores. Chasing one last drink on a bar run. Catching intimate moments on blue-gray sand, bathed by a shrinking tide, or even desperately against plastered alley walls.

They skimmed the water together: David, Paul, Marko, Dwayne, and finally Michael. Dangerously close to burning themselves, howling and laughing while greasy clouds above melded together to block out the last sliver of a waxing crescent moon.

Muggy nights made for better hunts. Sun-reddened skin would be on full view from divers returning to the boardwalk after one last swim, and still others would wear skimpier shirts or shorts just to find some relief from the sweat and the heat. So much easier to pick up on scents, to find easier spots to bite without having to contend with clawing at denim and cotton. Less packaging on their food was always better.

David led, as he always did, as he always  _would._ The unfortunate loss of their head vampire, Max, had left a gaping hole on the boardwalk. Someone with that much power doesn't just disappear without leaving a mark. Every creature for miles could have felt it, and the boys had fought hard over the course of the summer to maintain their position. They didn't mind it, actually. A kill with thicker skin than a regular human was a nice way to sharpen claws, and strengthen bonds between them.

Only once had their smallest been cornered. Luckily, he'd been vicious enough to hold his own, and kept the fragile skull of his conquer for weeks, until he'd left it outside too long and the sun got to it. Even after the true death, no part of a vampire remained safe from sunlight. Except his fangs. Dwayne had salvaged them for a necklace.

Paul and Dwayne shared a drifter, plucked from his tattered tent on the beach. Someone no one would miss. Not that it usually mattered, but the boys always tried to maintain a rule about locals. The ones who didn't fuck with them got a better running start, while the rest, well, it was a wonder Santa Carla's waters weren't tinted red by now.

Marko settled on one of the newer security guards patrolling the docks, too scrawny to share. A fish out of water, swimming right into his net. Why anyone bothered to hire these people to protect their property, David hadn't a clue. As if anyone would be stupid enough to be pulling a job at this time of night in the murder capital of the world.

David broke from them, stubbing out the remains of his last cigarette while he watched Marko feed. It would be slim pickings pretty soon, once tourist season ended. They were going to be in for about seven months of shared kills, and a  _much_ more limited food supply. Lucky for them, some hotels were being slapped up at the very edge of the boardwalk. Maybe Santa Carla was growing.

Michael followed David, glancing back over his shoulder at Marko speculatively.

"Good luck getting any more out of that one. Marko's going all-out tonight," David remarked, given how viciously the other vampire had torn out his victim's throat. Granted, none of them could claim to have the best 'table manners'. Especially Paul.

Michael rolled his eyes, looking back at David and staying in-step beside him, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, "I noticed."

The last few months had seemed longer than most. Adding a new member to their pack had changed up their routine. In a good way. It was good for their strength, too, given the loss of Max. They wouldn't likely add another for decades, though, if at all. Not unless there was a sudden unexpected population boom in Santa Carla. A couple of hotels here and there was only a drop in the bucket.

"What're you in the mood for tonight?" David clapped Michael on the shoulder, "I think I saw a couple of roadsters in that parking lot by the strip. Looked like they were getting ready for a fun night."

"Meal on wheels?" Michael asked, a hint of amusement in his voice, "alright. I could go for that."

David grinned back at him, taking off back into the sky. No one around now, no harm in showing off. He reveled in the speed the wind gave him. No leathered wings like a bat, but merely cold fingers brushing through air as the ground below him faded to a distant memory. Hazy. Eclipsed by mist. Michael was behind him, and then they were neck and neck. Racing. Michael could never win, not really. David was his maker, his pack leader, and over a hundred years older, but that didn't mean it was easy. If they could sweat, they would. If they had beating hearts, their pulses would rush so loudly that they'd hear it like hectic drumming. As it was, there was only the wind. Only David's laughter.

Michael didn't find it too funny when David beat him to the tarmac of the parking lot, while two topless cars raced about, leaving black streaks as their tires screamed into the night. Marko's security guard probably should have caught them.

David watched the drivers silently, unnoticed. He'd like to keep it that way until he had one in his clutches, pink skin shredded and embedded beneath his claws.

" _Michael,"_ he whispered in the brunette's mind, " _how about you take first pi-"_  David didn't get to finish his sentence, just as one of the cars came to an abrupt stop, Michael was on the driver in a flash, never one to draw out his kills. Hardly even a scream. It didn't entirely fall in line with David's plans, but he enjoyed the show nonetheless.

The other driver, who'd been slowing down at first to join his friend, immediately changed his mind. It would have been funny, if his headlights hadn't flashed on David's grinning face, immediately followed by the massive fucking pain of impact as the human tried to mow him over. He hated when that happened.

* * *

In those quiet, dark moments when Michael almost felt alone, settling into sleep beside his packmates, listening to the emptiness of the caves about him, he wondered whether he'd made the right choice. Could he have fought the need for his first kill? How many more days would he have had left to live in sunlight and share dinner with his family? Guilt had nothing to do with it, he told himself. In fact, after the first time, Michael had reveled in the hunt with the others, laughed as they laughed, and killed as they killed.

Still, he'd like to  _see_ mom and Sam. Up close. Talk to them. If Sam hadn't become a hunter, picked up that funky smell after his first staking with those freaky comic geek brothers, maybe it would be an option. But until he could trust himself not to go on the defensive when he was near them, not to weigh the merits of attacking his own brother, Michael had to stay away. He'd been thinking about Sam and Lucy a lot lately, was thinking of them now that the main rush of the blood high was ebbing bit by bit, but then David's accident with the other driver caught his attention. He abandoned his meal, having inspected it for valuables already and pocketed the car keys.

"You alright?" Michael called out, swiftly finding himself standing over David, peering down at his bloodied leader. A few cracks rang in the air as bone repaired itself, punctured by soft grunts and the occasional curse. All the while, David stared back at him with a sour look on his face.

"He got away," David grumbled, still a little too injured to sit up properly.

"We can catch him," Michael suggested.

"Don't bother. Didn't really want it that much anyway."

Michael gave him a dubious look, "you were bitching back in the hotel all night about how hungry you were before we left."

When David remained silent, Michael reluctantly knelt down to offer him a hand. The bones knitted quickly enough for him to sit up by now. Even if they were all able to read Michael's thoughts at the drop of a hat in his inexperience, as they'd all make clear on several occasions, it was anyone's guess what David was thinking when he decided to keep it to himself. For some reason, now, they entered into a silent stand-off as David stared after his lost meal.

"Do you want me to go get him?" Michael suggested, after a strangely tense minute, punctuated only by the distant sound of rolling tides and night birds.

David shook his head, "it's not worth it."

Frowning, Michael stood up, looking in the direction the human had driven, "what if he tells someone about us?"

David shrugged, "nobody who counts will believe him. He was drunk. Pretty sure I smelled a popper cocktail in your meal, so I don't doubt he'd fuck me up anyway."

Michael blinked several times, when the feeling of lightness in his head dawned on him, followed by a pleasant rush altogether new, "shit," he cursed, rubbing at his forehead. "What'd he take?"

"I don't know," David replied, his frown quickly replacing itself with an amused smirk, "just gimme a few minutes for the ribs to pop back into place, and I'll get you home."

Easy for him to say, Michael thought, and then paused to really consider it. He felt good. Fuck, whether he was about to go on a trip or not, it was better than getting hit by a car. He slid back down to the ground, sitting beside David and staring out across the parking lot while they waited for the others to finish off their meals and find them.

There really weren't a lot of stars tonight, behind the clouds, but the ones he could see were brighter than the sun. "Wow," Michael mumbled, leaning back on his elbows.

"Starting to feel it?" David looked over at him, licking his own blood from his lips.

"Y-" Michael hesitated, squinting and shielding his eyes from the stars, "yeah. I think so."

"Kinda wish I'd gotten a bite after all," David flinched as he shifted on the ground, a few more cracks echoing in the air as he finished healing. For the most part. "I need to feed later."

It seemed perfectly natural then to proffer his own wrist to David, who raised one eyebrow coolly in response.

"Go on," Michael told him, tipping his head back to let the high carry him away, "I drank plenty."

For awhile, all he heard was the waves, and the rhythmic pulse in his head of flesh blood from his kill, and then he felt a sharp pain in his wrist. Soft leather-gloved fingers gripping his arm to hold it steady.

It didn't hurt very long. Not at all. Between the drugged blood and David's feeding, though, Michael had a hard time telling where one high began and another ended. It wasn't a bad life, being dead.

"Hey," Michael looked down at him, and wondered if David was enjoying his feeding a little too much. The growls emanating from his throat were almost like purrs.

Michael licked his lips, "hey," he repeated, "let's do something."

David paused, drawing back from his wrist just enough to speak, "like what?"

Michael wasn't too sure he liked that odd tone in David's voice. A little too intense. "I wanna go visit Sam."

"Excuse me?" David frowned, "right  _now?"_ There was no mistaking his growl for anything but irritation this time.

"Yeah," Michael replied slowly, "I wanna say hi."

David let out an irritated huff, licking up the last bit of blood off of Michael's healing wrist, "no."

"Why not?"

"I don't think I need to answer that."

Michael scowled, jerking his arm away, "I'm going."

David rolled his eyes, "yeah?" He leaned his chin against a palm, crossing his legs, "fine. Try it."

"I will."

"Fine."

"I'm going."

"You already said that."

"Alright then," Michael paused, "as soon as I can get my legs to work, I'm gone."

A dark smile played on David's lips, "so I guess you can't run away right now, huh?"

Michael squinted, and he could swear the stars above them had begun to drift down into the parking lot just to dance around them. Bouncing, breaking and shattering. The only thing that still seemed real was David, holding his gaze steadily, clearly enjoying this.

"Was-that a threat?" Michael asked him, finally seeming to find his tongue after what could have been a few seconds or a few hours.

"No," David leaned forward, golden eyes dancing, as bright as the falling stars around them, "not a  _threat."_

In his right mind, Michael might have seen this coming. Not like David wasn't always watching him a little more intently than the others, touching, tasting trails of blood from his cheek after a fresh kill without so much as a word. He wasn't what you'd call subtle.

"David," Michael mumbled, as gloved fingers curled in his hair, soothing him, ruthlessly taking advantage of their link through pack and blood, "are you coming on to me?"

David rolled his eyes, a trickle of blood blossoming at the corner of his mouth as he leaned forward, "damn. You've figured me out," he replied flatly, the look in his eyes daring Michael to ignore the invitation of the blood. He didn't. He'd probably be cursing himself later, but David's blood was so much better than drugs, or the rush of a kill.

He thought he'd stop at that, just lapping at the blood, but then David caught Michael's tongue with his own, nicking flesh on fangs. The gloved hand at the back of Michael's head was no longer stroking, but holding him firm. They drank in the scent and taste of each other, while drugged blood still ran through them, and the fallen stars in the parking lot continued to dance, brighter and brighter with the passing seconds. Michael thought he'd go blind.

Then the stars were gone, and it was just the two of them, David far more real than he'd ever been, and Michael wondering what the hell he was doing. Still fuzzy. Still floating somewhere between cloud nine and the moon.

Distantly, Michael almost thought he heard laughter, or something. Maybe it was some kids on the beach. Or stragglers by the closing rides. Or someone else, too far away to matter. Whatever the hell his meal had been popping, it was one hell of a knockout cocktail.

"We can stop now," David rasped, when Michael suddenly realized he was lying down, jacket and shirt long discarded.

"What?"

"We can stop," David repeated himself, fingers brushing over bare skin, claws sharp enough to rip flesh from bone, before fading into human nails as his hand approached Michael's zipper.

Was he  _serious?_

Michael let out an irritated growl of his own, tugging at the lapels of David's coat to try and pull it off, before the blonde's fingers gripped at his hands and pressed them down to the ground, "do you want to stop?"

Turning his head to the side, Michael bit back a retort, growing more frustrated by the second as David's little game threatened to kill his buzz, "no, asshole. I don't."

"Good." David shifted on top of him, taking the opportunity while Michael's head was turned away to brush his lips over the brunette's exposed neck, "remember that later. You wanted this."

Wanted what? Michael was just about to tell him to fuck off when he felt fangs tear into his neck. Not just bite. Or nip. But  _tear._ It was pain on a whole new level, worse than turning, worse than death, or hunger, as if those fantasy stars that fell about them had decided to melt into fire just to burn into Michael's skin.

Then his veins.

His whole body.

And all at once, it was-

_Bliss._

* * *

David hadn't planned this. So maybe it was eventually going to happen, but he'd been waiting. Waiting until Michael lost the desire to leave those empty letters for his mother, or catch fleeting glimpses of his idiot brother at that comic shop probably plotting to hunt them down if they knew what the Lost Boys were. He'd wanted to wait until Michael let go of everything and everyone else who wasn't pack. But he hadn't, and now after tasting Michael's drug-laced blood, David's self-control was out the window.

"Remember that later. You wanted this." Instinct drove him now. More than ever. If Michael hadn't exposed his throat, maybe he'd have been able to hold back. Second guess this. The invitation was just too strong, now, and so David bit deep. He tore at skin whitened by a summer of endless night, tearing through layers of pink and red, numb to the screaming beneath him that soon melted into soundless gurgling. Held Michael down. Ground his fangs against each other until he was satisfied, then slowly David eased back and let the flesh gradually mend beneath his lips. He lapped at blood while vein and muscle reformed, nursed happily until there was nothing more now of his bite but a raw, ragged scar. The mark that would never fade. He wasn't restraining the younger vampire anymore. He didn't have to, hardly even aware that their limbs were tangled together now, Michael's claws digging into his back. He should've taken the coat off.

By the time they had both managed to clumsily strip down to just their pants, David momentarily wondered if a parking lot was the best place for this, but he didn't really care. They had to finish this tonight.  _Now!_

David growled impatiently when he tried to fumble at Michael's zipper, too impatient to think straight now, half-tempted to just rip the damn thing off. The brunette gave his own angry growl in turn, reaching down to help.

"Don't even try it," Michael warned, that much more aware of David's thoughts now. David might have fired back a retort if it weren't for the sudden gratification of Michael's hand on his cock, bringing his attention back to the moment.

They both gasped against each other's mouths, nipping, kissing as each in turn gave the other slow, sweet strokes. David's more skilled, but matched with enthusiasm. Now that the drugs from his taste of Michael's blood had settled firmly into his brain, he was struggling to pace himself, wanting,  _needing_ more than just the care of a strong hand to satisfy his desire. He'd claimed his mate with a ragged mark, but there was more to it than just tasting or biting.

David removed his hand, getting an angry snort from Michael in response as he reached down to tug his own pants a little lower, gain better movement.

"Mine," the blonde rasped, as if it was a perfectly acceptable explanation.

"Wh-" Michael shook his head, lowering both of his hands to the black tarmac beneath him, "what-"

"Mine," David repeated himself, catching Michael's mouth in another kiss, aggressive, desperate while he tried to tug the younger vampire's pants lower as well. That seemed to catch Michael's attention, and he used David's inattention to shove him away and straddle him.

There were no more words, only agitated snapping and growls as the pair struggled for dominance. Michael put up a good fight, but David had the benefit of age and siring. In less time than it had taken them to strip, he had Michael pinned to the ground beneath him, mouth and human teeth pressed to the same spot he'd made on the brunette's neck just before. If he was sober, if he didn't need to get this over with  _now,_ he'd be gloating.

But, on the other hand, he was  _David._

"How's it feel?" He whispered, hands firmly pinning Michael's arms down, breath harsh against his cheek.

Michael growled back at him, "it's pissing me off." That low, dangerous tone wasn't unfamiliar to him. It was the same voice he always used when he was ready to start a fight. This one, however, was a fight he wouldn't win.

"Mmmm, I think another part of you disagrees," David taunted, "seems pretty happy to me."

"I'm starting to wish  _both_ cars hit your annoying ass," Michael replied darkly, his muscles tensing as he prepared for another struggle.

David grinned, his arousal pressing against the small of Michael's back, "I'd still pin you if it did," he nuzzled into Michael's neck, inhaling deep. His scent was still just as intoxicating as it had been that first night on the boardwalk, when Michael's blood had first called out to him. David knew he was enjoying this despite himself, just as desperate for every fevered touch. "It'll be so much better if you just relax a little, Michael. Gives me a free hand."

Before Michael could make another attempt to throw him off, because David could  _feel_ his muscles tensing and just knew that's what the brunette was going to try, David bit down on his neck again, holding him in place without breaking the skin, quickly releasing one pinned arm so he could reach down to position himself properly. He could  _sense_ the others approaching, feel the air about them being stirred up. He had to get this over with, or Paul and Marko would definitely kill the mood.

He didn't apologize. David always took, claimed, and enjoyed everything he wanted. This would be no different, except for a few affectionate licks over the scarring flesh of Michael's neck as he slowly rocked against him, before giving one sharp thrust and driving forward, finally.  _Finally_ burying himself, deep in that beautiful, tight heat. A summer of agitated patience worth every single second in one incredible moment.

Michael gave out a harsh groan, lowering his head as he clearly struggled not to try to buck David off for fear it would hurt, " _shit,"_ he cursed.

David struggled to maintain a slow pace, massaging Michael's hips as he spread his knees just a little wider to get a better angle, knowing he struck the brunette's spot when the next cry Michael let out was more pleasure than pain. It had never been this good. This perfect.

" _David,"_ Michael whispered his name, and the spike of pleasure he felt at just  _hearing_ him say it sent David tumbling over the edge, his pace frantic and desperate, driving Michael to climax at almost the same perfect instant.

He wanted this to last, even when they were lying together on the tarmac, exhausted and bruised, clothes still lying in a discarded heap beside them. Even if the odd impressions he'd seen in Michael's thoughts of dancing stars had come true, and the heavens had fallen to the ground to join them, it didn't even fucking compare to this perfect, eternal night.

* * *

Paul and Marko would've gladly descended to ruffle the two up, but Dwayne was smart enough to put two firm hands on their shoulders, "c'mon."

" _What, and miss the smelly, sweaty monkey sex?_ " Paul exclaimed in their minds, the best attempt he could make at staying inconspicuous. David and Michael would already  _know_ they were there.

" _You already missed it,"_ Dwayne replied, refusing to release his grip.

Marko huffed, " _we can still give some constructive-"_

Dwayne gave them both a good shove forward, "I'd prefer not to carry your body parts home tonight in a trashbag."

If they had to hassle the pair, better to do it tomorrow. Or at least when David had his fucking pants on.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. The final chapter. I had fun with this story. Always do. I may have another story in the works right now, but it's a Charley/Jerry fic. Probably. The original Fright Night. Haven't decided when I'll start posting bits of it, but it'll happen. Also, as always, there's a concept I've got for a sequel to this fic, but I'm not sure when I may get to it. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed the story. :)

Michael lounged on the couch, one leg claiming half of it for himself and the other lazily cast over the side. Quiet night. They didn't have too many of those these days. He was doing his best to enjoy it and focus on flipping through an only moderately blood-stained car mag. Not too interesting, but the best he could do after Paul had decided to chew up the cards after a bad round of poker. Every once in awhile he'd try to catch a glance at David, but each time he tried the blonde met his eyes with a dark look. Hard to tell if he was moody or just pissed off about the cards. Or something else, but there was no way in hell Michael planned to bring  _that_ topic up. Bloodlust and drugs did funny things sometimes, and that was all there was to it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Michael noticed an imp-like creature leering at him over the back of the couch like he had some sort of secret, but it was just Marko. Hard to tell the difference sometimes, the rotten little cave monkey.

"Yeah?" Michael asked him testily as he lowered his magazine, "you need something?"

"I'm bored."

"Then go play with yourself," Paul suggested from the fountain, having made his tenth circle around the edge, playing a balancing act while he made an attempt to wrap one of his patented 'Paulie Cigarettes'. Could probably kill an elephant with those if you could figure out a way to get it to smoke.

Marko flipped Paul the bird, "sit and spin."

Paul snickered, jumping off the side of the fountain, "nah, I don't think I wanna know where that thing's been."

Dwayne flopped down into the vacant spot on the couch, giving Marko a side-long glance, "dude, back off. You're creeping me out."

It struck Michael how odd it was that a vampire could actually be creeped out by something, but if anyone could manage it, Marko was doing pretty well. He was back to giving him that weird leer, occasionally looking over at David to share it.

Wait. Had-had he been  _watching_ them?!

"We all were," Marko echoed Michael's suspicious thought out loud, "caught you two right after intermission. Too bad we forgot the popcorn."

He could take him. He could. Marko was small, and sure he was fast too, easily a hundred years older than him, but he  _was_ small. Michael debated whether or not he was in the mood to take that chance, when a very icy voice rang through the air.

"Marko."

It was one word, but more than enough to make the smaller vampire back off, "alright, alright. I can take a hint." Marko threw up his hands, backing away from the couch. For a minute, it didn't look like David was satisfied enough with that response. In fact, he looked even moodier than before. Then, once Marko was safely sitting beside Paul and nibbling on the thumb of his glove in a semblance of deep thought, the tension in the hotel eased. Just a little.

"I think," Michael began and lowered his magazine, licking at his bottom lip to moisten it, "maybe tonight I'm going to pay mom a visit. In person." Anything to get away from this weird vibe tonight. This week. Really, just a weird feeling in general since they'd fed together. Among other things.

David leaned back in his wheelchair, striking a match on of the handles to light his cigarette. The motion had a distinctly rehearsed feel to it. Michael hadn't actually talked about visiting his family too often, sober, to maybe he'd been waiting for this. The first night he'd killed and been taught what it was to be without his pack, the taste of  _isolation_ they'd given him when he threatened to leave was more than enough to convince Michael he needed them. They had to know he'd be back. Wasn't planning on running away. Didn't even  _want_ to.

Smoke curled out of David's parted lips, a lazy white snake slithering towards the ceiling. "Alone?" He asked, flicking the end of the cigarette. He looked relaxed now. Amused. Back to his normal self.

It was a simple enough question. One with an answer he hadn't really thought about. Would it really be a good idea to visit mom or Sam, with the others tagging along to make a scene? No way he could picture Paul behaving himself, or Marko refraining from traumatizing his little brother. Even if a bit of a scare might help keep Sam from doing something stupid, Michael wasn't too sure he liked the idea.

"Yeah," he decided aloud, "alone."

David drummed his free hand on his knee, grinning, "you think you can handle that?"

Somehow, Michael didn't think this was quite as funny as Paul, who emitted a loud cackle before Dwayne threw a moldy pillow at his head to shut him up. He jerked up in surprise, dropping his joint in the fountain, "shit!"

David didn't once look away from Michael. This wasn't a joke. It was a challenge. If he lost his temper, he was at least smart enough to know it wouldn't end well, so he bit back the urge to tell his pack leader to go to hell.

"Yeah," Michael finally ground out, forcing a grin of his own, "I think I can handle that. Can  _you?_ "

"Go on," David waved a hand, "have fun."

Really? That was it? Michael was astonished. "That's it?"

"You're a big boy, Michael. You can take care of yourself."

The condescending tone grated on his nerves, but he kept his mouth shut, and elected instead to just leave before something happened. Not that anything could keep him there. He was his own man. Yeah, alright, so he needed them, and maybe he'd go crazy if he lost his pack, but he could handle himself for a few hours. Maybe even a few days. A week.

"Michael," David called out once his back was turned and he'd almost reached the lobby entrance.

"Yeah?" Michael didn't look back, just simply stood there, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

"Don't stay out too late."

* * *

Lucy had piled the last comic from the kitchen counter into a small laundry basket before turning around to pass it to Sam, along with the shoes he stubbornly kept leaving in the downstairs hallway.

"I thought you didn't like monster comics," she remarked, eyeing the contents of the basket curiously. It all looked far scarier than what he normally read. Maybe he was going through a phase. The idea made her more than a little concerned. Everything about him worried her these days. Michael had already slipped away, and Lucy couldn't shake the worry that soon Sam would too.

"Ed and Alan keep giving them to me, mom," he told her with a shrug, "they're okay. I don't have anything left to read."

She brightened a little, "I've got a few new books from that new store on the boardwalk if you'd like to read them. You still like fairytales, don't you?"

"Uh," he lowered the basket a little, "mom, I haven't liked that stuff since I was wetting the bed."

"Oh," she faltered a little, wrapping her hands around her torso just to have something to do with them, "well, they're still there if you decide you might want to look at them."

He nodded, leaning forward to kiss her on the forehead, "alright mom. Maybe I will. Do you need anything before I go start my homework, or-...?"

"No, I'll be fine. I'll just make some tea. I could bring some up to you if you like?"

Sam shook his head, leaving Lucy alone in the kitchen. Supper was cleared away. The counters were scrubbed clean. Even with Sam in his room, the house felt so  _empty._ Maybe she would visit Hattie tomorrow, despite her misgivings. Lucy really didn't like to think loneliness could drive her to be just as eccentric if not worse than that woman. If anything, she could at least feel a little closer to her dad's memories.

Just as she'd set the kettle on the stovetop, a loud knock sounded at the door. For a moment, her heart gave a leap. Was it Hattie? At this hour? Lord, she hoped not. Not that the older woman was dangerous, but Lucy just wasn't prepared for that level of  _energy_ at this time of night. Especially after the week she'd had at work, half of the staff deciding not to show up, her hours practically doubling overnight.

"I'm coming!" Lucy called out, shuffling in her worn-thin house shoes towards the front door. If it wasn't Hattie, it couldn't be a robber. He wouldn't knock. An odd chill ran down her spine, and for just a moment, half a second, she recalled a childhood fear of monsters in the dark.

"Mom?"

"Michael?" She whispered under her breath, and then louder, "Michael!" Lucy could have torn the door from its hinges if she were stronger.

There he stood. In one piece. Her wayward child who'd left home without a word, coming back in just the same way.

Then, with nothing else to offer but a nervous smile, he tucked his hands into his jacket pockets and said, "hi."

She just couldn't be mad. "God, I missed you," Lucy exclaimed, albeit softly and with a bit of a laugh as she stepped aside to let him pass. He seemed to hesitate, looking behind him as if he expected something to happen at any moment.

"Michael?" Lucy repeated his name one more time, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he shook his head, "just making sure I parked close enough. Near the light."

"Is everything okay? Are you eating? Are you coming home?" She poked and prodded at him with questions, just as he stepped through the threshold and pulled her into a tight hug. He smelled very strange.

"Have you been gardening?" She pressed, inhaling the scent of his jacket, trying to place that odd scent before he let her go and closed the door behind him. He smelled like earth and iron. Certainly not any sort of cologne she'd remembered her eldest son wearing. Far too strong. Lucy wasn't sure she liked it.

"Everything's fine, I'm eating plenty, I'm just visiting, and yeah I guess I've been digging around a little," he answered all of her questions in order leaning over to kiss Lucy's cheek. "I just wanted to see you guys."

He looked-he acted-he  _sounded_ different, but she just couldn't figure out why. It had only been a few months, surely he couldn't have changed that much?

"Hey, how about some coffee?" He suggested, nodding towards the kitchen, "it's pretty late, so-"

"-coffee!" Lucy clapped her hands together, "yes, coffee! There's some instant in the fridge, I'm making tea anyway. How long are you staying?" If it meant keeping him there, finding out why he'd left, fixing whatever had happened between them and having her son back, Lucy would make him a thousand cups of coffee. She'd raid a Columbian farm if she had to.

She rushed to the kitchen with Michael trailing behind her, stopping only when she noticed him hesitating at the stairs.

"Oh, Sam!" Lucy exclaimed, "I'll go get him."

"I can do it, mom," Michael waved her off, "you go get the water before it boils over."

"It's not-" She stopped when the distinct sound of the screaming kettle. Such odd timing.

"Go on." Michael winked at her, "I'll surprise him."

"Alright, alright," Lucy relented, "just don't scare him. He's been so nervous lately. I think it's those comics he's been reading."

Michael placed a hand on his heart, dramatically, playfully, "me? Scare Sam? Never!" He paused, "I'm pretty sure Nanook would freak out and bite my head off if I did."

"Nanook?" She laughed, "he's a teddy bear." Lucy couldn't help but shake her head as she left him to go take care of the tea and coffee. The very idea of that dog hurting  _anyone_ was ridiculous.

* * *

Sam eyed his textbook morosely, as if at any moment the numbers were going to leap off the page and beat him within an inch of his life and there was nothing he could do about it. Why was it that every time his math teachers gave him a homework and assignment, said it wouldn't be graded, then gave him F's when he didn't do it?

"Ughhhhh!" Sam groaned, slamming his head against the book. Even thinking about vampires wasn't enough to distract him.

Nanook lifted his head from where he'd been resting it on Sam's feet, looking up at him and letting out a long whine.

"What, you need to pee  _now?_ " Sam demanded, and then thought maybe that'd be a lot funner than his homework. A walk would be good, but then there was that whole thing about vampires. He really didn't want to have to explain to his mom why he was toting grandma's old crucifix out to the front lawn for extra protection. He couldn't even hide it, either. The thing was about as long as his arm.

Nanook stood up, charging towards the bedroom door to scratch at it demandingly, yapping every so often as he did so.

"What, little Timmy stuck in a well?" Sam snarked, heading towards the door to let his dog out, but he stopped short when the doorknob slowly began to turn.

"Mom?" Sam called out, surprised, "what do you-"

Nanook dashed out of the room, and Sam tried to rush after him, only to find that not only was nobody in the hallway, but neither was his dog. Then he heard the sound of a door slamming, and silence. "Mom?" Sam shouted, swearing he could taste his heart in his mouth.

"No such things as ghosts, just vampires," he told himself under his breath, "all those dead things grandpa stuffed didn't come back to claw your eyes out, it was just a dream."

He heard Nanook whining down the hall, scratching from behind a door, and slowly creeped away from his room. Sounded like it was coming from the bathroom. "Mom?" Sam repeated, "Nanook, calm down!" Maybe it was just the wind. Really strong wind. In the house.

Suddenly, strong fingers gripped at Sam's shoulders and spun him around. What else could he do? Sam bravely shrieked and used his expert fighting skills to wave his arms at the offender, flapping them wildly against a leather-jacketed weirdo.

"Hey! Calm down!" Michael snapped, grabbing Sam's wrists and ending his penguin-like assault, "it's me!"

"Mike!" Sam shouted yanking his hands from his brother's grasp, "what the hell did you do to my dog?!

"Jeeze, calm down. He tried to tackle me, so I locked him in the bathroom. Didn't want slobber on my shirt. You can let him out when I leave. How about a 'hi, how's my awesome big brother?'"

Sam huffed, "you're a buttface!" Not the best one-liner, but it got the point across pretty nicely.

"Nice to see you, too." Michael rolled his eyes. "How about coming downstairs and acting like you've got a brain cell?"

"You-" Sam sputtered, "I've got a brain cell," he replied, slumping a little, "where've you been?"

"Around," he replied, shrugging. "I'm here now, so just go with it."

Jerk or not, Sam  _was_ happy to see his jerk of a brother. Alive. Human. In the house. "Mike," he began, throwing himself into his older brother's arms and hugging him with as much strength as he could muster, "I  _did_ miss you."

Michael tensed up beneath his grip, "hey, yeah, sure," he replied, expertly slipping out of Sam's grasp. He had a funny look on his face, and for just an instant Sam could swear he looked like he wanted to hurt him. Then it was gone, and Michael was mussing Sam's hair in his typical jerk-like way.

"Hey!" Sam protested, trying to shrug that odd thought away. He was imagining it, Mike was Mike. "Seriously, meat-head, stop!"

Michael snorted, tugging at Sam's collar, "c'mon, coffee's ready. I don't want it getting cold."

"Wait, hold on, before we go downstairs I need to ask you something." Sam straightened up. He was glad to see Mike, really, but that didn't change the fact that he hadn't seen him in months! Except when he'd spot him on the boardwalk with those-"Mike, why is it every time I see you on the boardwalk, you run off? What about those creepy guys you're hanging out with?"

"My friends?" Michael's eyebrows shot up, "I don't know what you're talking about. I've never seen you out there." He was a  _bad_ liar. Three months hadn't changed that. What was he hiding?

"Sam," Michael whispered, leaning close, "I said my coffee's getting cold. Just let it go."

"Let what go?" He hadn't said anything.

"Don't worry about it," Michael shrugged, strolling towards the stairs, "I can't stay long. Let's just hang out for a bit, alright?"

Sam couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something, but he kept the thought to himself, following his brother downstairs to the kitchen. Mom was already waiting at the table for them, hands wrapped around a small china cup. She looked happier than he'd seen her in awhile. Whatever it was about his brother that bugged him, he didn't want to ruin the homecoming party. Or visit.

"So!" Lucy set her cup down and clapped her hands together as they all settled into their seats, "how long are you staying? Your bed is just like you left it, and if you need a job, I'm sure I could-"

"Mom. I'm just hanging out for a little bit." Michael cut her off before she could finish, and Sam couldn't help but flinch at the crestfallen look on her face. He didn't have to let her down  _that_ fast. Could've waited.

Lucy smiled, "a-alright, I guess that makes sense," she lowered her hands into her lap, visibly deflating. "So I guess you found a job? You said as much in your letters."

Sam had read those notes Mike left them. Honestly, he hadn't really said  _anything_ about what he was doing. Where he was staying. He might as well have just skipped writing them altogether, except at least their mom still knew he was alive.

"Yeah, I guess I did." Michael shrugged noncommittally, "you could call it a job. Mostly charity. Clean-ups, pest control, that kinda stuff."

"So you're a garbage lackey?" Sam teased, drawing a dark look from his brother. He jumped a little in his seat, taken by surprise. There was that weird face again. "Jeeze, Mike, it was just a joke."

"What?" Michael straightened up, making an attempt at a tense smile, "I know you were."

"You looked like you wanted to kill me!" Sam snapped back.

Lucy looked back and forth between the pair, "is there something I'm missing? Sam, please don't tease your brother."

Michael drummed his fingers against the table. Sam couldn't look away from his nails. They looked longer. Like, longer than he'd seen them before. He'd make a joke about it, but the funny mood Mike was in made him think twice about it. There was something oddly uncomfortable about this visit with his brother, and maybe it was just him, but it was weird.

"Sam?"

Those nails were  _freaky!_

"Sam!" Michael waved a hand in front of his face, finally getting his attention.

"Wh-huh?" Sam shook his head, "oh man, dazed out. Yeah, what?"

"You okay?" Michael asked, a cool smile on his face. Like he  _knew_  something.

"Guess I'm just tired," Sam lied, looking back at Lucy, "been a long day."

"I'm sure it has," she leaned forward to squeeze his hand. If anything, her day had probably been a lot worse than his. He could swear he actually saw the rings around her eyes through the make-up.

Michael played with the handle of his coffee mug, neither drinking it nor seeming particularly interested in the contents, "maybe I picked a bad time," he said, frowning down at the coffee. Like he had something to say, but didn't really know how. Sam knew that look. Even if he didn't really know why his brother kept giving him the death glares for no reason, Sam  _knew_ that look. Maybe his brother had changed in a few ways after he'd pulled his disappearing act, but they were still family. They'd always be family.

"Something wrong, Mike?" Sam asked, grabbing his own glass of tea. He hadn't asked for it, but mom had probably figured he'd want some when Mike showed up.

"You didn't pick a bad time, sweetie" Lucy threw out, anxious and ready to leap up if she had to in order to keep him there. Luckily, Michael didn't look like he was about to leave any time soon.

They sat together for awhile, conversation drying up before it could start. There didn't seem to be much to say. Sam thought he'd be a lot madder when or if his brother decided to show up in their lives again. He thought he'd have something to yell about, or a thousand questions and demands. Now the only thing he could even think to say wasn't exactly what Mike or mom would want to hear without putting him on some sort of looney pill. 'I'm glad you're not a bloodsucker.' One less thing to be worried about, but then again, one more. What was going to happen now?

"You should call, or visit," Lucy broke through the silence, "anything is better than letters, Michael. It really hurt me when you walked away like that. Did you think I wouldn't let you go?"

 _Wow, mom. Way to make everything feel all weird again._ Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes flicking quickly over Michael's face before returning to their mom's. Yeah, okay, he wanted an answer too, but was there a good one? One that wouldn't leave them all feeling even worse than before? This was just too awkward. Like one of those days dad came home with lipstick and perfume all over his shirt, then asking mom to make breakfast and showing it off like some kinda trophy. Except this time she was actually  _saying_ something.

Michael suddenly jerked up, staring towards the shades of the kitchen window, scowling.

"Michael?" Lucy said his name, quiet. Just a whisper. "Well?"

Sam looked towards the window, as if there was anything there. What the hell?

"I guess I just wasn't thinking," Michael finally said, continuing to stare at the window, "didn't really know what to tell you. Figured you'd get over it." Funny. Didn't sound like he was really sorry. Maybe the window was a lot more interesting than their mom's reaction.

Sam bit his lip, sure if he said anything right now, Lucy would shatter. She looked like she'd just been slapped. At a loss for words.

Then, as if he'd suddenly realized what an asshole he was being, Michael looked back at her, "I'm sorry. I've got a lot of stuff going on right now, mom." He pushed away from the table, "I've gotta take care of something."

Lucy stood up, reaching for him and very nearly knocking her tea over, "please, Michael, it can wait! Stay." She took a deep breath, " _stay._ " She didn't mean just for a few more minutes. She wanted a lot more than that.

Michael shook his head, walking around the table and pulling her into his arms, giving their mom one of the most awkward hugs Sam had ever seen. Like he'd forgotten how to do it. "Listen, I really don't know how to talk to you guys like I used to. I wish I was better at this. I'm just not the same person anymore." Even though he was mumbling the apology into Lucy's hair, Sam heard it all.

Lucy pressed her face against his shoulder, and Sam leapt up from the table to join the hug before his brother could slip away. They were family. He couldn't just leave like this.

"What's happened to you, Michael?" Lucy whispered, "did I do some-"

"You're fine," he cut her off, "you're both fine. It's just me." He tensed a little when Sam joined them, but then quickly reached out to pull his little brother closer, "I'm sorry. I'll figure things out. I will."

It was confusing, and it  _hurt,_ and Sam wished he could do something to keep Mike there. All he could do, though, was hug his family and bite back his tears, and then bite back his fear when he caught sight of a polished silver plate Lucy had hung on the kitchen wall. Because what he saw there was just him and his mom, embracing an empty space.

* * *

David didn't remember his family very well. In life, they hadn't been close. Phantoms of bitter memories painted over by time. The closest he and the boys had ever gotten to  _that_ was the day the first television shop opened in Santa Carla, and after Max had happily gorged on the store clerks, forced them all to spend the rest of the night admiring those glass screens together with visions of the happy family they would all soon become. Shades of the head vampire's lunacy reflected back at them far better than the hazy television signals.

Watching Michael try to capture a fading taste of humanity tonight was oddly reminiscent of that. Except, of course, for a few things. Namely, he wasn't dragging the rest of his pack into the illusion, and it was getting clearer by the minute to him that coming here tonight was pointless. David knew it would. He had from the very beginning, but it was something the younger vampire would have to learn for himself. Nobody could live in  _both_ worlds, living or dead, and it was too late to go back.

Standing outside the kitchen window, he could only see slivers through the shades and screen. Spots of light and moving shapes. It didn't matter. If he wanted, David could see through the eyes of either of the humans inside, or even Michael. It was a slow process, but he found that the longer Max was dead, the more power he seemed to gather. Little things. Tastes of something more, if he only reached for it. Sooner or later, he wouldn't have a choice about it. The air out here, separated from the boardwalk and the beach, reeked of others. Not hunters. Packs, creeping in. Testing him and the boys.

" _Are you done?"_ David demanded impatiently, his voice pressing into Michael's mind. He'd been hiding himself, masking his presence tonight, but enough was enough. There were others, creeping in, and too many to deal with alone.

" _I was wondering when you'd crash the party,"_ Michael replied, seeming to be just a little amused.

David frowned at the window shade, " _wrap it up."_ Somehow it didn't feel like the demand had quite the same effect when they weren't face to face. He wasn't entirely mad at Michael. Irritated, yes, because this whole exercise at playing house was pointless, but most of his anger was towards the other vampires he could sense approaching. Rolling in with the evening fog. How predictable.

For a few minutes, there was no response. David could make out movement through the shades, and through Michael's eyes he saw his childe finally parting from his old family after a long, and very tense hug. Words were said, just sappy enough to make him want to gag, and finally Michael was outside. David melted into the dark, away from the house, waiting.

The look on Michael's face cooled his agitation a little. He looked, for want of a better word,  _lost._

It wouldn't do to alarm him. He'd pick up on the other scents soon enough, and they had time to talk. Just for awhile.

"Have fun?" David inquired, leaning against Michael's bike as if it were his own. They were a good distance from the house, where nobody inside would see them. Just as well. Something was wrong.

Michael licked his bottom lip. A nervous habit of his that always seemed to draw David's attention. "Sam knows," he shrugged, "I think. Tried not to listen to his thoughts, but he's so  _loud._ Doesn't seem to shut up." His mouth twitched a little, dry humor in the face of a bad night, "so I guess not much has changed."

" _You_  have," David pointed out, looking back at the house, "pretty soon everything around here is going to change a lot more, Michael. If you try to hold on, it'll only get worse." He leaned forward to press a gloved finger to the younger vampire's forehead, "trust me. You don't learn to just  _let go_ , you're gonna snap. It's not in our nature to play house. Sure, visit, talk, but that's all you can really do."

"I can make it work," Michael argued, batting David's hand away.

David rolled his eyes, "your brother smells like a  _rat._ Even if he only hunted once, that scent never washes away. You think you can really play nice now that he knows what you are?" He leaned in a little closer, scenting at Michael. Now that he was marked,  _claimed_ , it was even harder for him to hide his thoughts from his maker. David could see the guilty thoughts Michael had the moment he came close to that little twerp inside. Grisly images of Sam Emerson, torn in half, or speared with one of his own stakes while Michael stood above him covered in blood.

 _That_  would be fun. Michael was usually a messy eater, rivaled only by Marko's penchant for wearing more of his food than actually drinking it. What a shame he had self-control; David would have loved the show.

It looked as if Michael were about to snap out a retort, the way he narrowed his eyes and focused on a spot just past David's shoulder to avoid direct eye contact or losing his temper; then something altogether different happened. Namely, he was finally picking up the scent of the  _others._ Nothing was more repulsive for their kind than a vampire who wasn't pack. Not even hunters.

David looked around, setting aside his irritation in favor of safety, "guess we'll have to pick this up later."

Michael agreed, "alright." He straddled his bike, "but Sam's not stupid enough to come after us. No way in hell.  _You,_  maybe, but not me."

"Yeah, sure," somehow David had a feeling he was going to have to eat those words.


End file.
